


Southern Comfort

by ocktorok



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: #doyoulikebuttstuffandmonsters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Cannibalism, Choking, Dubious Consent, Gore, Hux Does Things, Hux POV, I mean, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Murder, Overstimulation, Rimming, Slow Burn, Southern Gothic, also some pining, and its awful, backhands will happen, belts and bolts, bicepbite2k16, bones might be broken, burying the hatchet but remembering where, cannot emphasize blood enough guys, god these tags are getting out of hand, he eats people, hux is fearoused, i dunno man, i dunno man its complicated, if thats what does it for you, if you can think of it, if you kinda squint a little bit, it IS a star wars au, its gonna get weird, just put hux down as scared and horny, kind of?, kylo is a gentle beast, lashes for lashes, monster!kylo, obviously, overly poetic descriptions of nature, possible threesome?, potential temporary hand loss, probably, probably gonna happen, really though, scaroused?, snoke is in here somewhere, so much blood, so sweet so soft, teeth might be lost, the bloodlust will be very real, the prologue is tame, theres some slapdash medical work, these boys are gonna be insatiable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocktorok/pseuds/ocktorok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is woven in with violets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  _June 16th 1934_

 

                       The phantom of a breeze that would not come idly threatened to rustle filigree curtains as the sun beat a sluggish tempo across the room, glowing fingers grasping over the floorboards of what was once a respectable plantation; empty now save for the screaming cicadas clinging to the weathered shutters tapping offbeat rhythms into worn paneling.  
The grounds below had long since been sown, and left unchecked had come overgrown with thistle and weed. A veritable gnarl of hidden snake pits, bathed in the sickly sweet aroma of honeysuckle, waiting for the less wary to stumble, too many miles away from help and hope.  
                       A languid path sloped down the acreage into the surrounding wood, curving abruptly to skirt the areas where swamp water had crept too far inland, making safe passage impossible.  
                       The sot and sill of the wetland was broken only by the slosh of weary feet making their way through a well known groove; the breathy exertion of a man no longer accustomed to Georgian air. Looking out unto his ownership and the discord that had befallen it, Balam Hux allowed himself one last deep breath before stepping proper into the past he thought he’d escaped.

 

\---

 

                     Hux quickly discovered the odiousness of the task that was reassembling what was left of his life. His possessions arrived days after he did, an ancient cart strung to a whipcord horse creaking its way to a stop well and away from the sprawling shadow of the house. The wild eyed driver spluttered and slurred from drooping lips what Hux could only assume was an adamant refusal to pull further toward the bog. The movers, an unsightly group he had then attempted to hire from the back of the cart, had crossed themselves.  
                    “Ain’t no one goin’ out that far.”  
                    Irritated, Hux dismissed them with the practiced roll of his sleeves. Wiping the sweat from his otherwise immaculate brow, he bent to the back breaking work of hefting crate after crate across the muggy terrain, soundlessly grateful for the low tide as the caravan behind him shifted and stuttered gradually away.  
By the time the last of the boxes had found themselves secreted to their corners, the furious burn of the sun had seeped low, bathing the house aureate in a vainglorious attempt at keeping away the shadows twisting a bruised staccato across the yard.  
                   Inside, Hux collapsed breathlessly onto his bed, sweat pasting damp amber locks across his now burnt face, body spent and weary. Eyes closed and fingertips pressing rhythmically into the tender flesh of his nape, a half-hearted attempt to alleviate his growing headache, Hux set about correcting the regulation of his breath.  
                  After a time spent with only menial success on either front, Hux rolled onto his back and stared blindly at the ceiling, considering again if coming back here hadn’t been a mistake. He hadn’t had much of a choice; receiving the inheritance bestowed upon him at the timely demise of his father had hinged completely upon his claim to the estate. It was easy enough to manipulate his superior officers into allowing the transfer; a General for the U.S. Army, in peacetime, could operate anywhere, and on an army pension he couldn’t afford to decline the money. So, for better or worse, the prodigal son had returned.  
                   Too soon, tendrils of inactivity bred anxiety coaxed Hux back into a standing position. Mind wandering, he passed down the labyrinthine halls of his childhood home, the dinge of must permeating his senses as his fingers tripped over the pebbled walls. He was vaguely aware of the vibrations rocking gently up his arm as his fingernails snagged where the wallpaper had bumped and bubbled, exposing yet another expense he was loath to deal with later. While what his father had left him had made him preposterously wealthy, Hux’s stomach clenched hotly at the notion of using it for repairs that should never have been an issue in the first place. Setting him up as the heir apparent to his ruined estate was not made easier when the discrepancies of his father’s life could be found rotting in the very walls.  
                   The weight of his responsibilities settled squarely over his shoulders as he picked his way neatly downstairs, palms chafing over the warped railing. Hux felt he had done exceptionally well, in so short a time, at restoring some semblance of order to the cavernous front hall. He had spent the days before his luggage arrived endlessly on hands and knees, scrubbing the shine back into the foyer before methodically working his way through the rest of the floor, washing, waxing and polishing until the ghost of what he remembered this house to be became that much more corporeal.  
                   Hux drew his strength from his control, both emotional and physical, a fact to which his meager belongings were testament. He could not speak for his parents, who had neither flaunted nor taken measure to hide their wealth. Every room in the derelict estate was fully furnished, lavished in riches and ready to play host to any sort of flattered debutante. Now the only soul haunting these halls had less interest in extravagance than any Hux before him.  
                  He did, however, concede himself his books. Rationalizing the bulk weight of his collection as an expansion of mind, he began, at last, the final chore of lugging every single box up the grand staircase and into the library, before gently pressing each individual book lovingly into place. Hours later, when the eternally setting sun finally gave way to the serene blanket of night, Hux made his way back to his room and found bliss in the escape of well earned sleep.

  

\---

 

                   When the weather was fair he would walk the miles between marshes and town, careful to sidestep the meals flies had made of skinned fauna he found along the way. He made a point to endear himself to the butcher, Floyd, a portly fellow with an austere temperament, and his assistant, a young man named Aren whose intimidating height was belied by his sweet nature. Benefit could be found in their unusual companionship in that Hux, for a small sum, would no longer have to endure the sweltering trek all the way to town for something so trivial as food; Aren would gladly meet him halfway for the chance to escape the rancid stench and oppressive heat of the butchers in favor of fresh air and the soft shades of cypress.  
                  From where he stood now Hux could see the town in its entirety. On either side of him were the Butchers and the Grocers, and just ahead the post office leaned precariously close to what was once no doubt a fine church. Sparse around them, ramshackle homes provided an altogether uninviting scene; all dust and tin and rusted copper nestled up to cabins with porches and lattice fences, sun stripped whirligigs spinning slowly around the posts of mail boxes that curved at an alarming slant. What looked from a distance to be ornamental charms hanging from windows and shop signs became, on closer inspection, greying bones; bound and strung in increasingly bizarre patterns that Hux thought it best not to question.  
                 Melodious tolling rang from the bell tower as the squat church before him emptied its attendants in a solemn procession of heavy lidded eyes and grimacing mouths. Hux was satisfied to finally lay eyes on these people, having found little time yet to do so. He took carefully inventory of each person, noting the subtle indications of friendships, the dour glances of rivals, filing away any information he could gather as to whom it would be beneficial to approach, and which of these people were to be shunned. It seemed to him that a great deal of them would consider new acquaintance an unwelcome affair.  
                 The sun glaring ominously over head threatened to burn him further as he made his way into the grocers, inclining his head to the towheaded woman sweeping outside, only for her to scowl and retreat to the shade of her shop. Sighing, Hux considered it a small victory that she acknowledged him at all. He was beginning to suspect that appeasing the suspicion of these people would be an exercise in glacial patience.


	2. Chapter One

_ July 9th 1935 _

 

              Crickets sang to each other in the still warmth of the night as Hux jerked violently awake, every cell alive with the notion that something was _wrong_. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, the familiar shapes of his wardrobes and dressers sitting innocuously enough, no obvious signs of trouble. Apprehensive, he pulled a shirt over his head and groped blindly under his bed for his boots. Locating them and snugging them on, he tightened the laces and stood to grab the rifle propped carefully against his side table. Belatedly remembering his cigarettes, he turned back to pocket them before striding the expanse of his room and creeping into the hallway. Gauzy curtains dulled the moonlight struggling through the window at the end of the hall, pale illumination a sickly green. Endless darkness crept from shadowed corners, swallowing ornate paintings and blanketing thin tables. Hux advanced, guiding hand flattened low to the wall, soundless for the rush of boots on carpet, ducking his head into rooms as he passed them and finding each of them empty. Eventually, his fingers curled against the cool bannister curving along the stairs. He followed it down, crossing the empty foyer to ease open the heavy wooden doors of the den. Giving it a cursory once over, Hux deemed the spacious room vacant and moved into the adjoining dining room. ‘ _Nothing_.’ Hux was beginning to feel foolish as he swept into the kitchen, light from the wide windows painting the room silver. ‘ _It was probably nothing._ _Even so_ ,’ Hux took a shuddering breath, ‘ _Best to check_.’ With the hush of the screen door, Hux steeled himself and stepped outside.

                  Dense fog lent an ethereal quality to the glow of fireflies swarming over the waters’ edge, but did his vision no favors; indistinguishing the lines between fern and moss. Squinting in a vain attempt to see more clearly, Hux listened carefully to the siren calls of the night, the deep lament of toads in stark contrast to the shrill warbling of a lone whippoorwill. When the quiet lapping of misplaced water rippled somewhere before him, it instantly snagged his attention.  Raising his rifle, Hux squared his shoulders and tread cautiously through the mist, zeroing his focus with pinpoint precision, when, all at once, there was silence.  He froze, posture rigid and elbows locked as he fingered the trigger, his own pulse pounding in his ears as he scanned over dewy green for the malefactor, and for a moment he thought he saw – The deafening boom of his rifle terrified the birds into a shrieking hysteria, taking to the air in a frenzied cloud of rustling wings as the recoil jerked painfully through his shoulder. Horrified, Hux lurched forward on shaky legs, throwing out his arms to catch himself just before his face hit the dirt. Exhaling sharply through the nose, he stared wide eyed at the ground in momentary disbelief. That - that _thing_ had been grotesque; a gargantuan mass of dark hair, bloodied teeth and dripping claws, its eyes reflective in the light of the moon. Firing at it had been a knee jerk reaction that Hux could not make himself regret, despite the pain throbbing down his arm. Collecting himself, he rose and straightened his shirt, summoning determination and confidence as he began the hunt for the beast.

              He searched the foliage for what felt like hours, pushing roughly through larkspur and flipping back the leaves of dogbane. Tripping fruitlessly over mayapple, humidity a moonlit sheen on his skin, he tugged at his shirtsleeves where they had caught on the waves of cicuta. Huffing his irritation, Hux surrendered. He fished his cigarettes from his trouser pockets and struck a match, allowing his rationality take him back over. He cupped the flame with his hand and lit the tobacco, considering the realities of such a monster. Surely he would have discovered it by now. Hiding in the rhododendron he had found nothing; no errant hairs on the aconite, no blood splatter on the jimson weed; something that large could not hope to hide in the low tangle of philodendron. He exhaled, smoke curling from his nostrils, and in the haze some small part of him, something still enchanted with things that could not be, whispered,

              ‘ _You saw it. It was there.’_

               He was ruthless in its silencing _._

              Slinging the strap of his rifle over his good shoulder, he rounded back. Berating himself a child for his nerves, he kicked through the bramble that led up to the house, jerking the screen door open and letting it bang loudly shut behind him.

 

\---

 

                   The day found him lounging in the cool shade of the porch, one leg tossed over the other as he thumbed through another well-read novel. He reached for the tea on the table beside him, ice tinkling against itself as he drank, eyes never leaving the page. It had taken the better part of the year to fully settle, though now that he had, Hux desperately wished he hadn’t. In the end there was very little to be done for the house. It was irredeemable. He’d done what he could to repair the interior, but the floor still sank in places and more than one wall bowed. At first he had persisted, contacting renovators across the state for their opinions, to no avail. When he finally resigned himself to that disappointment, he found there was nothing to do in Georgia but sweat. He rarely had occasion leave the marsh, especially now that Aren was seeing that blonde shop girl, ( _What was her name? Fontaine? Flora? Phasma?)_ he was more than willing to come all the way out to the house, readily taking any opportunity to spend the day in her company. Hux often watched them, walking together up the path, Aren’s arms laden with groceries as he smiled shyly after the stout woman. Sometimes they stayed for a while, sharing genial pleasantries, and laughing over drinks on the porch. Recently though, their conversation had darkened, heads tilted closer together with whispers about the deaths. Nothing but limbs were recovered, and the town was starting come in at night, no longer safe when the sun slid behind the trees. The two would leave, well before sunset, arm in arm and twining ever nearer each other until they disappeared from Hux’s view entirely. Which meant, more often than not, he found himself fading from room to room like a dying sunset, idly passing the days away in a silence that suffocated him as sure and steady as the ivy smothered the house around him.

                  The clouds rolling overhead were beginning to purple, the promise of rain an electric current over his skin. He had lived here long enough to know he had little time to collect his things and head in before the sky emptied above him. A bit chaffed at the inconvenience, Hux marked his page and stood, pulling his arms over his head, back arching in a languorous stretch.  His shoulder was still sore, and he absently supposed the last of the pain would ebb in the warmth of a bath. If there was a better time to soak the world away than during a thunderstorm, he did not know it. That simple pleasure in mind, he gathered his things and went inside. Setting his book on the buffet table by the stairs, he paced smoothly through the foyer on his way to the kitchen, relying on the efficiency of his muscle memory to suds and rinse his cup. He shifted to hang it on the drying rack when, through the window, he saw it: something large and black and bloody, buried in the ocean of peace lilies.     

                  Hux jarred, ice thrilling through his veins. ‘ _That couldn’t be…_ ’ His thoughts railed in adamant denial, one foot dragging hesitantly past the other, unwilling to turn his back until the heel of his boot vibrated against the screen door. ‘ _There wasn’t anything there, you checked.’_  A nearby lighting strike lent its sulfuric scent to the humidity as he backed into the yard, searching through a subconscious that offered no sufficient alternatives, no feasible rejection of what was so clearly before him, closer now with every wary step. The low rumble of thunder was his only warning before the static patter of rain consumed him, drenching him completely and blurring the marsh in a grey haze. Warm winds threaded his hair, coaxing raindrops to his lashes as he neared the – ‘ _Good God, it’s a man_.’ Hux surged forward, pulse spiking in tandem with the mud squelching beneath his feet as he raced to kneel by the prostrate figure, hands hovering inches above his body as Hux frantically looked him over.

                A heavy overcoat pulled across the span of his shoulders, entirely too warm a thing for Georgian weather and several decades out of fashion, a wealth of blood stained to his midriff, ruining the embroidery and dyeing the grass. Reflexively cursing under his breath, Hux raised his voice over the pour of rain to ask,

               “Can you hear me?”

                Beneath waves of dark hair, thick brows furrowed as the man groaned, a feeble protest that died in his throat and ghosted over his lips, his booted heels slipping over wet earth in a noble attempt to push himself safely away. Hux gripped his shoulder, firmly stilling him, and lifted his head to his thigh, struck swiftly by the severity of his face. He ran a hand over his forehead in an unpracticed attempt at comfort. If this creature is what he shot last night, he’d been out here, bleeding in the dirt, for over twelve hours.

               “It’s okay, I’m,” Hux took a moment to appreciate the irony of what he was about to say, “I’m not going to hurt you, you’re alright.”

               The man opened his eyes, a brilliant honey brown, feverish and pleading. “Help me.” 

               Hux looked at him, beginnings of guilt spreading at the back of his mind. He was just a man, and Hux had shot him. Just a man, with a feral face and bewitching midnight hair spilling over Hux’s thighs, the smear of his lashes nestled against the dark bruise of his eyes. Just a man whose hollow cheeks swelled up and over the patrician arch of his cheekbones, curving into the bump of a Roman nose. Just a man with translucent skin; opaque and ivory, smooth save for the spattering of moles across his cheek and brow. Just a man with strong hands, long fingered and clean nailed, now wrapped loosely around his wrist. How Hux had thought him a beast was easy to see.

               Hux hooked his arms under him, rocking gingerly to his heels, and standing. He was deadweight, sopping in his finery, inflaming the ache in Hux’s shoulder. Hux ducked his head as low as he could, an insubstantial cover in the deluge, and ran back to the house, launching over puddles and skidding through knots of monkshood. Almost to the doorway, the man’s hand shot out from under him, bracing roughly on the frame. Perplexed, Hux looked down to still-closed eyes, pallid face tucking against Hux’s chest. _‘How did he…?’_

              “May I enter?” he slurred, delirious, interrupting the train of Hux’s thought.

              Hux blinked at him, shaking fat raindrops from his hair in disbelief. “That’s what we’re doing right now, isn’t it?”

              “You have to say yes.”

              Hux squinted, bewilderment contorting his features. “Yes. Okay? Yes, we’re going in now.” _‘What a strange thing to say.’_

              The rain entered with him when he opened the door, water pooling around his feet and seeping over the kitchen tiles, dully reflecting the overhead lamps as Hux struggled, coming dangerously close to slipping when he kicked the door closed. Chest heaving, he swiftly cleared the extent of the foyer, stopping in a spare room to deposit the man on a bed and jogging back to the kitchen. Snatching linens from their drawers and slipping pliers into his back pocket, Hux was careful not to further soak the tiles as he hefted the basin from the sink, centering it on a dining chair that he edged deliberately back to the room, one leg cattycorner to the other.

              The wind picked up outside, buffeting against the house in a fearsome onslaught as Hux knelt over the bed to painstakingly ease the ruined coat from his unexpected ward. The fabric was thick and cumbersome under his hands, sloughing in wet clouts against the stiff vest Hux found underneath. Blowing away the hair that had fallen in his eyes, Hux reached for the strap at his belt loop and unclipped his hunting knife, silently apologizing to the stranger as he cut the coat away. If he lived, Hux would offer to replace it. The vest was a much easier thing, being unbuttoned in rapid succession to reveal the filmy cotton of his undershirt, soaked a ruddy scarlet from waist to sternum. It tore easily under his hands.

              Now exposed, Hux’s guilt doubled at the sight of his flayed torso. The bullet had blown him partially open, shredding its way through his skin and tearing past fatty gristle, bearing thankfully into his muscle, a thin final barrier to his organs. Willing himself to focus, Hux shoved his wet sleeves to his elbows and submerged the kitchen linens in the basin, wringing out the excess water to tenderly wipe at the gape of his abdomen. He sluiced the blood away in attentive, miniscule strokes, periodically rinsing the rag as he worked. It was a time consuming process, thoroughly cleansing the wound, and free of blood it looked alien; pink and slack and glossy. Hux took a steadying breath, withdrawing the pliers from his pocket and rolling his fingers firmly over the ragged flesh until he felt it: unyielding iron buried a few inches deep. He pressed cloth over the wound and applied pressure, easing the pliers into his body. Everywhere the metal touched broke apart, blood gushing faster than he could sop, and Hux frantically clotted the damage with his rag. Regrettably, Hux did not have the tools to remove the bullet with finesse, and setting the pliers aside, he decided on a faster route. The man flinched as Hux dug into the slick folds of flesh with his fingers, pushing through granules of fat, he located the bullet and pulled it quickly it from him, momentum dotting blood over Hux’s arms and across his shirt. Fast as he could, Hux returned the cloth with heavy pressure under his hand, until he was positive the blood flow had tapered. He tossed the iron bullet to the side table and stood, crossing to the closet, withdrawing a sewing needle and nylon sutures, something his mother kept handy in the event her studious son ever got rambunctious. Hux threaded the needle, kneeling to the task of stitching the man together. Pinpricks of blood welled where the needle punctured, slicking Hux’s grip and impeding his progress, but he was ultimately successful, cutting the nylon with his knife and assessing his neat handiwork. It would have to do. The man grimaced but did not wake, swollen lips pulling back to reveal teeth that weren’t unsharp, his gums tinged copper. Hux, dazedly assuming the man had coughed blood from his lungs, collapsed shakily into the kitchen chair. His nerves shot, he uncaringly ran blood slick hands through his hair before throwing them over the armrests, rivulets of crimson quietly spiraling to the floor. As Hux observed him, the man did little more than grunt, twitching in his sleep.

              Some time later the power cut, severed by the tempest ever raging outside. Hux lit the storm lamps, thick yellowed glass throwing gold to the room, light enough to see by if the man woke. Bone weary, he left, locking the door behind him and heading upstairs to bathe, a perfunctory operation so unlike the soak he’d longed for.

              His shoulder continued to throb.

              The rain lasted the night.

 

\---

 

              Hux woke before the sun to grey skies and an uncommon chill. He dressed stiffly, mindful of his shoulder as he pulled up his trousers and shrugged into his shirt. He took casually to his morning routine, brushing his teeth and shaving the ginger stubble from his chin, neatly combing his hair into place. Regarding his reflection in bathroom mirror, Hux was visibly tired, which came as no surprise considering yesterday’s events, the beginnings of bags under his olive eyes. He cocked a trim eyebrow, bemused at himself, and quickly dashed this almost moment of self pity. Pocketing his cigarettes, he left the room, the thud of his boots on the stairs echoing through the foyer. He paused at the door of the spare room to unlock it, wary of what he might find inside.

              The subtle rise of sheets beckoned a relieved sigh from his lungs. Having rolled in his sleep, the man lay on his side, sheets twisting around him in a dramatic arc, his dark hair splayed fetchingly across downy pillows. He faced outwardly into he room, and, studying his face, Hux thought his pallor had improved, his coloring not quite so light as death. The man moaned, his brow tense over fluttering eyelids, uneasy sleep offering no respite from pain. The sound roiled uncomfortably in Hux, who silently closed the door behind him, going straight to the kitchen to ignite the stove, setting his coffee pot to boil on his way to the back porch.

              The cool in the air was beginning to warm, due largely in part, Hux imagined, to the glow of the sunrise trying and failing to break through the cloud cover. Leaning forward, he braced his arms against the railing, lighting a cigarette and looking over the flood of his swamp. The water had risen dangerously close to the house, rippling lightly under what was left of the rain, green tips of the ferns barely breaching the surface. Hux’s exhalation of smoke unfurled seamless into the mist, as thin and elusive as naming this abstract fascination with his guest. He couldn’t begin to understand it, this indescribable pull. It was senseless, that something in Hux could stir when presented with – with the spill of blood and raven hair over the whites of his sheets, the pained moaning of a stranger in the dark. It was so mindlessly base, so disturbingly unlike him, a savage attraction to long fingers and bright eyes. Hux was determined to put it from his mind like the simply ridiculous thing it was. A bizarrely childish infatuation at best, something better off ignored. Resolute, Hux finished his cigarette and turned back.

              Pouring himself some coffee, he poked his head into the spare room once more before climbing the stairs to his study, telling himself it wasn’t anything more than confirming there wasn’t suddenly a corpse laying in the bed.

              There was not.

              Once upstairs, he buckled down, signing off on the recruitment forms still waiting to be mailed out, a vain pride for the men Georgia had to offer for his battalion. He stretched his legs for lunch, stopping to check that the stitches were intact, that and nothing more, before resuming his work with a sandwich in tow. It was a mind numbing task, accepting or rejecting hopeful militia men. Hux often wished for war; the thrill of holding a man’s life in his hands, utterly reliant on the whim of his mercy.  He had been a predominate force in his class, a truly impressive pupil, strategically apt with a sharp mind for brutality. He felt cheated that the war had ended before he was old enough to revel in it.

              When felt he deserved a proper break, he ambled languidly down to the kitchen, piecing together a small dinner. He knocked softly on the door to the spare room, thinking if the man was conscious yet he was likely starving, but there was no response. Cautiously, Hux peered into the darkness, closing the door behind him again at the heady sound of the mans breath, deep and even. His dinner was a tasteless affair, meant more for fuel than luxury, after which Hux returned to his study armed with a thick book and old brandy. Fiery bursts of sunset finally broke through the fog in the view of his bay windows, and Hux disappeared completely within the novel. Drinking himself slowly into the night, Hux’s immersion was so total a thing that the soft tread of footfalls behind him went entirely unnoticed.

             “You wouldn’t happen to have a shirt, would you?”

             Hux startled and turned in his seat. There the man stood, eyes shadowed, a graceful silhouette to the dying light of the study. He was taller than Hux had gauged, his trim figure delicately muscled, torso dotted with moles complimentary to the ones on his face.

             “You’re-you’re up.” Hux fumbled, transfixed.

              “Yes,” the man’s dulcet tones were contrary to his sharp gaze. “How keen of you to notice.”

              Hux bristled and got to his feet, book and brandy forgotten. “I-I shot you. How are you standing?”

              “I’m fine,” he said simply, gesturing to the stitches on his side. “Though I’m not entirely sure you’re supposed to sew bullet holes.”

              “Fine?”  Hux’s face twisted in disbelief, “You should be lying down, not asking for shirts. How are you not falling over?”

              “I nearly am.” The man laughed, raising a fair hand to push the fall of hair from his bright eyes, an action tracked by Hux’s eyes. Hesitantly, the man captured Hux’s eyes with his own, slowly asking, “May I stay here? Until I am well?”

              Hux considered him critically and with careful deliberation. Thinking of the deaths in town, it had not escaped his notice that Hux hadn’t seen this man before, and the slim potential of fault was Hux’s responsibility to fish out, considering his position. In the more likely event of his innocence, well, Hux had still shot him, and he had a responsibility to that, too. He could think of no better way to determine anything then for him to stay exactly where he was. It had nothing to do with… anything else. Motioning in a vague acquiescence, Hux crossed his arms. “Of course. You’ve stayed one night; I see no harm in more.”

              “Thank you,” the man said, inclining his head and keeping it low, sweep of his hair hiding his eyes. “If you would refrain from locking me in, I would consider it a kindness.”

              “I suspect it is natural,” Hux drawled, stifling the trill of fear that threatened to crawl up his spine, “to lock the doors of your home on a man you don’t know. Especially if he’s injured, alone, and has the potential to wander around unchecked.” Hux arched his brow, “You’ll notice I was correct.”

_‘He was unconscious, how did he-?’_

              An enticing smile tugged at the mans lips and pulled Hux from his thoughts, “A fair assessment. Your concern is appreciated, though I had not wished for it. You have nothing to fear, I shall not wander too far.”

              Hux stopped himself from reaching out in protest. “No, I hadn’t meant – You’re free to wander.” Hux felt like an idiot, tongue tied and rooted to the spot. This man exploded into his life with no warning, covered in blood, and saying such absurd things in such soft tones, smelling so distractingly like lilacs. Hux didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to any of it.

              “I can find you a change of clothes, I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

              “You didn’t think I’d survive.” The man was suddenly, terrifyingly close.

             Hux’s eyes widened as the man loomed, but he didn’t waver, squaring his shoulders and leveling his stance. “I entertained the possibility that I’d be burying you today, yes.”

              “I assure you I am not so easily broken,” he demurred, so intimately close, barely a hairbreadth away, and Hux… Hux didn’t know whether what simmered over his skin could be classified as fear.

              Just as quickly as he was there, he stepped back, baring his neck in a show of deference. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’m sorry to have intruded on your work. Goodnight, General.”

             And just like that he was gone. Hux stood by his desk, dumbstruck in the low light of the lamps, completely astounded by the strange man and his own, frankly backwards, reaction to him. Perhaps he was getting sick.

 

 

             When Hux lay in bed that night, staring into the dark, he had two distinct thoughts:

              He hadn’t even asked him his name.

              The stiffness in his shoulder was gone.

 

\---

 

              Hux woke deliciously and uncharacteristically late the next morning, the sweet grogginess of sleep anchored in his bones as he lay warm in his bed and blearily blinked the sleep from his eyes, then all at once remembering the man was both awake and still in the house. Lurching out of bed, he dressed quickly and pulled on his boots. He forced himself through his morning routine, brushing his teeth, and running a cursory hand of wax through his hair. This man had upset enough things, he would _not_ upset his routine.

              ‘ _Control in all things_.’

              Satisfied at last that he was presentable, Hux felt comfortable leaving the room, only to be anxious in the hallway. He could _feel_ this man in the house. It was unsettling. He forced himself into his usual stride and went downstairs to the spare room. He found the man inside, laying so docile on the bed, observing the ceiling like it held the universe’s secrets. Hux couldn’t remember why he had been so perturbed moments before.

              “Good morning.”

              “Is it?” The man asked, tilting his head. “Morning?”

              Hux suddenly regretted not making himself coffee before coming here. “I think you’ll find that it is, yes, if the sun is any indication.” He came more fully into the room, leaning casually against the opposite wall. “How are you feeling?”

             The man sat up, regarding Hux for a moment with a curious look before replying, “I am well.”

            “I never asked for your name.”

            “I’m called Kylo.”

            “Kylo.” Hux repeated like an oath. “I shot you. I’m sorry.”

            “You did.” Kylo smiled. “It’s alright, you were scared.”

            Mildly offended, Hux’s brows pinched. “What were you doing out there anyway?

            “I was returning home. I have a place just outside of town. Well,” Kylo’s laugh was mirthless, “I did. It no longer suits me.”

            "An unfortunate plight," Hux quipped, "Perhaps next time you'll make your exit in the daylight like a decent person."

            Kylo's responding grin was downright feral, "Who says I'm a decent person?"

           Hux’s mouth ran dry as and he straightened his relaxed posture, meeting Kylo’s challenge with a flippant, “You can just call me Hux.”


	3. Chapter Two

_April 21_ _st_ _1936_

 

       He dreamt of Kylo.

       Sometimes so simple a thing as the curve of his smile, or how he imagined the sunlight might play in his hair.

       Others were more sinister, the kind of unspeakable nightmare that jolted him from sleep without warning, cold blooded thud of his heart the only reminder he was still alive.  

       Though most often he dreamt of Kylo beneath him, luminous sheen of his skin slipping under Hux’s hands as he rocked into him, tilt of his hips at an angle designed more for pain than pleasure, and providing not near enough of either.

       It was a familiar thing for Hux; waking to heat, and need, and an ache he no longer had the strength or patience to simply will away.

       He groaned, the sound of Kylo crying out still ringing in his ears as he rolled onto his side. Pinching his eyes shut so that he might hold on to the wretched noise, he slid a hand under the sheets to palm himself. Drawing a ragged breath, he shifted his grip, seeking as quick a release as possible. If this is something his body insisted on doing to him he was determined not to overly enjoy it. It was done in a cursory manner, thoughtless, a secret thing in the early morning before Hux could even hope to begin his day.

       He had given up the notion months ago that he would ask Kylo to leave, and in turn, Kylo never mentioned it. He still couldn’t name it, the sick enchantment that plagued his nights, keeping him, in anger, from his sleep. That Kylo doing absolutely nothing at all still had such an effect on him was inexcusable.

       With an inaudible gasp Hux came, the delicate thought of his teeth breaking open the pale skin of Kylo’s wrist bone inexplicably enough to push him over an edge he fought tooth and nail to avoid.

       Dabbing at the mess with his sheets, he sat up to cradle his head in his hands. If his father could see him now he’d –

       Hux didn’t want to think about it.

       Standing, he wearily took to the solace of his rite, shambling to the adjoining bathroom to put himself back together, if only physically. When he at last met his own standard, he made his way down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time and slowing as he circled to the the foyer. He was, to his dismay, hoping that today he might see his elusive housemate.

       Though it was probably for the best if he did not.

       He was expecting guests, no longer too rare a thing as Phasma and Aren had taken to regular visits. Phasma didn’t seem to mind Kylo’s sulking figure, so often lost within these walls. She was wholly undisturbed by his attitude and spoke to him as though his tattered coat and reticent behavior were something to be expected. But her dry wit was counterpoint to Aren’s skittishness, deflecting all attempts at conversation back to her care, and keeping, still politely, to himself.

       If Aren was uncomfortable around Kylo, Hux couldn’t fault him that.

       They barely spoke. In truth, Hux rarely saw him. But Kylo’s tangible presence was a slow, rolling force that permeated the very air. It had Hux looking over his shoulder with the unmistakably sinister feeling of being watched. Each time Hux found nothing behind him he felt a little more ashamed. Worse: disappointed.

       He felt like he was going mad. Whether it was from fear or desire he could not say, as Kylo inspired both in him, with his fae temperament and uncanny ability to appear seemingly at whim, melting like a nightmare from the shadows.

       Hux sometimes wondered if he wasn’t still in Kansas, fever dreaming in the stiff academy cots of Fort Leavenworth; but the stretched feeling of his skin tacked over his bones was too painful to be anything other than real. He itched with it, this all encompassing need to pin Kylo to him, spread him over these ruined walls and consume him.

       On the occasions Hux saw him, slipping wraithlike into the marsh, his thoughts twisted; salacious whispers suggesting he should crush delicate arteries beneath the pads of his fingers; bloody his teeth on the fine curve of Kylo’s jaw.

       And when Kylo trailed the thin fingers of his fair hands over his own throat, when he exhaled softly through parted lips, Hux wondered if he didn’t project himself in some way.

       Hux thought, _surely, he must know_.

       But Kylo never spoke, never wavered, or even glanced at him on his way through the house. Hux told himself he was repulsed, horrified. He told himself it was uncouth to think these things about a man he lived with, but did not truly know; a man who had made no indication of returned interest.

       He told himself Kylo would be appalled.

       So Hux busied himself with other things, keeping his thoughts clear of Kylo in favor of - literally anything else.

       Now and then he was even successful.

\---

       Returning Phasma’s grin and pulling the door open for her, Hux ushered she and Aren to the kitchen, pouring them coffee as they settled around the table.

       “No Kylo today?” Phasma asked, blue eyes glittering through the steam rolling over the brim of her cup.

       “Not today, no.” Hux did his best to feign disinterest, spooning two sugars into her mug from a tiny porcelain bowl.

       “What a shame,” she leaned back with a knowing look, “I would’ve loved to have seen him.”

       “Yes, well,” Hux cleared his throat, brows raised as he looked into his own, very fascinating, mug. “I’m sure there are more relevant things to be discussed than the whereabouts of an antisocial miscreant.” He turned his attention on Aren, leaning on an elbow to ask, “How’s business? Is everything going alright now that Floyd’s,” he hesitated, “…gone?”

       Aren shrugged, tucking his hair behind his ear, “Things’re going well enough. Runnin’ the butchers by myself is harder’n I thought it was gonna be, but I get by.” An attractive tint took to his cheeks. “Phasma helps, when she finds the time.”

       Phasma reached across the table, offering his arm a consolatory pat.

       The comradery between them was a welcome thing, providing him with a much needed distraction as they spoke of the town; how the deaths were more frequent, the body parts found fewer and farther between. Of the pastor, his flock around him, preaching the importance of spiritual vigilance in these, what must surely be the end times.

       “The Devil is among us,” he would say, “He walks with us now and would tempt us into his arms. Here, under the eyes of God, we must be strong and resist him. We must not give in.”

       Hux sympathized with him.

\---

       As always, Hux watched them go, leaning against the bannister of the porch and squinting into the setting sun. They had stayed too late, wrapped up as they were in their theories as to who or what was responsible for the goings on in town.

       Still laughing into his cup, Hux had glanced up to see that orange had given way to black, the shadows crawling the lawn almost touching the house.

       Standing to clear the dishes, Aren and Phasma reluctantly said their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon as Hux lead them to the door, understanding lift of his lips a subpar mask for his disappointment.

       Now alone, the house seemed cavernous; deep and dark, breathy wisps of a breeze on his face as though the house were a living thing. Kudzu had covered most of it, flowering purple and blooming a season too early, leaving the hollows of the doors to gape at him, open windows passing their quiet judgments.

       He couldn’t bear to go back in.

       The idea of spending another night in an eerie mockery of solitude was loathsome, especially when his day had been so full of conversation.

       So he walked, aimless and at his leisure, striking a match and letting smoke curl from his lips as he exhaled his first cigarette in hours. It wasn’t that Aren or Phasma objected to his habits, but he abstained in their presence all the same.

       It was a fine enough evening, the gentle hum of locusts a perfect complement to the fragrant pollen dusting the earth and perfuming the air.  

       “It’s too late for you to be out by yourself.”

       Without turning to look, Hux stopped, a sneer tucking into the corner of his mouth. Kylo. Of course. He should have known that the moment he was least on his guard was the moment the object of his torrid abhorrence would appear.

       “What do you want, Kylo?”

       The near silent shuffling of grass behind him set him on edge, the velvet draw of Kylo’s voice just that much closer.

       “It’s not safe after dark,” he whispered, and more hesitantly, “You should go back inside.”

       “It’s not dark yet.”

       “No, but Hux –“

       “What is it with you?” Hux turned, raking his gaze over the extent of Kylo’s figure. He had restitched that hideous coat of his with threads of gold, feathers gracing the collar gleaming oily and kaleidoscopic. The fine cut of the fabric fell just short of his ankles, and in the fast fading sunlight he seemed to glow, skin ethereal in the shade of the marsh, pearlescent against the severity of his clothing. His angular face so beguilingly framed by soft waves of black that Hux clenched his fist, feeling helplessly compelled to reach out and touch.

       “Why are you suddenly so interested in where I am?” He gestured to Kylo with a look. “You’re proof enough I can handle myself.”

       “Of course you can, but the people in town are-“

       “The people in town are afraid of their own shadows. You’re the only person I’ve ever found lurking out here.” He threw his cigarette, watching the ember bounce between fern leaves and land somewhere in the ragweed. “Though if I ever find another, I’ll be sure to steady my aim.” His shoulder brushed Kylo’s as he swept past, swift and rigid and intent on the vacant haven of the house.

       “Hux,” Kylo called, pulling him up short a few mere feet from freedom. “For what it’s worth, I’m always interested in where you are.”

       Burning a hole through the chipped paint of the deck and breathing an incomprehensive “Don’t be,” Hux was distantly aware of the dull thud of boots, the tap of the screen door, and the protesting creak of floorboards before he was upstairs in his study, sinking heavily against his desk. Reaching into the side cabinet to pour himself a brandy, he shifted to the floor and buried his face in his hands.

       What a stupid thing to say.

\---

       The spectacular disaster that was the night before spurred his feet, taking the sun dappled path to town as he sought as far a refuge from Kylo as possible. Clearing the trees, he set his sight on Phasma’s shop, measured strides bringing him over the dirt of the road to her door.

       The chime of an overhead bell greeted him as he entered, warm push of the wind setting airborne dust to flurry. Looking around at the lack of Phasma’s immediate presence, Hux reacquainted himself with the layout, pacing the sparse aisles, and finding each as barren as the one before. It was unlike her to leave the place unattended, and the likelihood of her doing so with unlocked doors was nearly laughable. Given the state of the shelves Hux thought it was probable she was simply in the store room, unloading supply.

       With growing curiosity, he approached the counter, debating with himself on whether or not the room marked ‘Employees Only’ required investigation. Weighing the possibility of Phasma’s ire if he were discovered, he opted to merely lean over the worn counter and crane his neck.

       “Hello?”

       A loud crash, the unmistakable clatter of falling boxes, and a muffled shout had Hux half lurching over the counter; the scrape of heavy metal being shoved over the floor and a tiny, startled-looking woman ducking out from the doorway saw him easing back down.

       The sprinkle of freckles gracing her cinnamon skin drew Hux’s eye as she crossed her arms, chest heaving, her caramel locks falling loosely from her bun and curling delicately around her ears.

       She leaned her hip on the doorframe, brow perked expectantly.

       “Can I help you?”

       “Is,” Hux cleared his throat, “Is Phasma around?”

       “She’s not,” Her curt reply was given in monotone. Then, almost as an afterthought, “I can tell her you came by?”

       “No, that’s alright, it wasn’t important,” Hux shook his head, turning to leave, “But consider locking the door. The next avalanche could be fatal.”

       She said nothing as he ventured back into the heat, sunlight blinding after the shade of the indoors.

       With his initial plan thwarted, he crossed the way to Aren’s butchery, pointedly ignoring the subtly parting curtains of the homes around him. If the nosey homebodies wanted something to gossip about, any attempt at interference on Hux’s part could only be considered encouragement.

       Aren was behind the counter, edges of his white apron stained a pale pink, his lower lip stuck between his teeth as he concentrated on measuring out dripping slabs of meat. At the sound of the bell he looked up, face softening when he saw it was Hux.

       “Oh, no. I didn’t forget somethin’ this week, did I?” He asked, leaning to place the meat in a freezer and marking something on the clipboard hanging from the wall, turning back around with a broad smile.

       “No,” Hux said, “I was actually wondering if you could use some help? I checked with Phasma already but she’s not around and I need a break from… well, everything.”

       “Everything, is it? Is that what we’re callin’ him now? Well, business’s been kinda slow today, but if you’re eager for somethin’ to do this place could always use a good scrub down.” Aren scratched behind his ear with a pencil, casually tossing him a rag. “You can go ahead and wipe down the counters first, and if you’re feelin’ real ambitious I’ll send ya out to scrub the deck next.”

       Hux set to the task with all the fervor he had demonstrated at his own house, digging his fingers into the filth found in corners and pulling stubborn grunge from glass. He swept the larger dirt mounds from the cement slab serving as a deck outside in a veritable maelstrom of dust and pollen, genetically appreciative of his parents that he had no allergies to speak of.

       He and Aren broke for a silent lunch, both too involved in their own thoughts to be of much use for conversation, and amenably resumed their chores without any unnecessarily polite, and inevitably stunted, attempts. Setting his mind to the more back breaking challenge of scourging the walk-in freezer, Hux grabbed a push broom and made easy work of the shredded ice layering the floor. Aren pointed him in the direction of the chemical mix required to blast away the grime, and with the toxic burn of fumes invading his nostrils Hux felt more at peace than he had in months.

       His hard-won solace was broken when Aren shouldered open the freezer door, rush of frigid air tousling his hair as he kicked down the door stop.

       “Hey man, sun’s goin’ down.” He inclined his head apologetically, “You should probably…”

       “Right, of course,” Hux straightened from his braced position, returning the push broom to its stall and making for the door. “Thank you for the work, I appreciate it.”

       Aren placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, “Wait, I almost forgot. I’ve got some extra. Well. What with the people goin’...” He stuttered, “Anyway if you wanted some of the… y’know, the meat.” He grimaced, looking at Hux as the he could help him. “You can just think of it as payment for helpin’ out.” He finished lamely, circling back around the counter and presenting a paper sack.

       “Oh. Uh. Thanks.” Hux said brilliantly, bag crinkling as he took it from Aren, “You know you don’t have to-“

       “I know, I know,” Aren waved him off, “But it’ll go bad otherwise and I thought somebody should have it, so just,” he laughed softly, “Just take it ‘n go home alright?”

       “Alright, alright. I’m going,” Hux held up the bag as he backed out the door, “Thank you.”

       Aren waved, leaning on his elbows at the counter, managing a final, “You be careful out there,” before the door closed.

\---

       Halfway to the house and fully ensconced in the thick of the forest, Hux could no longer see the sunlight. All was deep, dark blue melting into purples and, in the most secret places, fading to black completely. The rationality of his thought process assured him he was quite safe, even alone in the nightfall, but recollection of the deceased prevented him from slowing to a more natural stride, each of the many shadows becoming a clawed hand. He couldn’t deflect the errant flash of corpses his imagination so helpfully displayed, and though the trill of birds settling into their nests and the distant call of the bobcats provided something of a natural comfort, the quiet atmosphere of unease still raised the finer hairs on his neck, his forearms.

       He kept catching a light, just out of the corner of his eye, pale green and reflective, though never there when he turned to look. It was too high in the trees to be a deer, too low on the branches to be an owl, and the tell tale thrashing that came with the hulking mass of bears was distinctly absent. Hux was hesitant to dismiss it as nothing, thoughts settling on a particular rainy day almost a year ago, and kept alert as he fought his baser instinct to flee. One sure foot after the other he made his way down the path, heart stalling once when he made the acquaintance of a Canebrake, the stripes of its scales a hypnotic rhythm as it slithered into the overgrowth.

       His skin was clammy as he broke from the tree line, adrenaline lengthening his strides and lurching him up the final few steps of the porch into the house. He locked the door behind him and sagged, releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.

       Jittery and feeling foolish, he flipped on the lights on his way to the kitchen, clearing a spot in the fridge for his payment as he talked himself down from his unnecessary biological response to the dark. There had been no feral animals hiding in the bushes. No wayward wanderer had come to call.

       Without thinking, lead perhaps by some abject instinct, he walked the few steps to Kylo’s door. His fist was raised, poised to knock, before he caught himself standing there like some sort of lovesick idiot.

       It was as if his own body protested the bereavement of Kylo’s presence and sought to confirm his whereabouts without consulting his mind. Hux shook himself, disgusted, flipping the lights back off as he stormed upstairs to his room, tripping over his laces as he kicked his boots off and shucked his pants.

       Falling onto his bed he glared at the ceiling.

       The calm he had collected working the day with Aren had been so effortlessly destroyed, and he had no one to blame but himself.

\---

He was shirtless, sunburnt, and sore. The muscles roping up his arms and down his back ached from their extensive use, but still he swung, setting his axe again and again to the quickly dwindling pile of fire wood.

       The Spring air was beginning to warm, and the fireplace had sat cold for years, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise. This was about taking back some semblance of control over his own body. It was high time his compulsory draw was checked and put down, and Hux was not above extreme physical exertion to kill it.

       At this point he would do just about anything.

       Sleek shards of wood exploded violently around him at a particularly nasty downswing, the poorly angled strike the result of the sun and sweat in his eyes; his own blind fury. The blade stuck firm in the base stump when he jerked back, trying to dislodge it. Pain reverberated through the tendons in his arms as his hands slipped from the hilt, gravity and exhaustion helping to land him hard on his ass.

       His chest heaved, gasping shallow breaths in quick succession as his fury simmered, boiled, and died.  His lips were chapped, skin damp, and the deep ache radiating from every joint in his body had worked exactly as he’d hoped. Feeling at last like himself again, Hux was confident in his ability to return indoors without incident, a necessary thing as the price of his therapeutic task was an audible growl of hunger, and the stench of his own sweat.

       He hissed as he stood, looking down to the sharp throbbing in his hands to see he’d torn them open in his fall, thick splinters of bark piercing his palms. They were large enough to retract with his fingers, and, watching pinpricks of blood well to the surface of his skin, Hux didn’t mind the sting in the slightest. The subtle tease of pain provided an entirely different, more welcome sort of stress relief.

       Retrieving his shirt from the porch, Hux shrugged it on and went inside, making his way to the kitchen where he scrubbed at the dirt from fingertip to forearm, making sure he’d removed the extent of the barked shrapnel before turning to the fridge. A good lunch and a long shower would buff out the last shreds of his edges.

       He stood there for a moment with the door open, chilled air cooling the sweat on his skin, confusion writing lines on his face before all the long hours he spent taking his turmoil to task at the expense of his calloused hands slipped uselessly from his bones, replaced by the tired burn of fury.

       The space where Hux had left his parcel stood empty.

       Even the sharp echo of his footfalls sounded indignant as he marched through the foyer to Kylo’s door, forgoing knocking entirely as he barreled into the room. Kylo was draped innocently over a plush settee, ankles dangling over the arm as he lounged with an open book propped against his thighs.

       “Hello Hux.” The lashes of his disarmingly bright eyes fluttered as he sat up, curious tilt of his head as Hux stormed across the small space, snatching the book from his fingers and leaning at the waist, trapping Kylo in place with the length of his arm, his hand in a white knuckled grip over the back of the couch.

       “I don’t know _who_ you-“ The beginning’s of Hux’s diatribe died in his throat as his eyes scanned over the intricate calligraphy of the title. “…Where did you get this?”

       Kylo blinked up at him, offering the cut of his teeth with a small smile, “Where do you think I got it?”

       His quiet rhetoric grated Hux’s flayed nerves, jerking back as though struck to seethe, “You got this from my- you went into my-“ Finishing a thought was proving difficult through his mind’s inability to believe what Kylo was suggesting.

       His blistered cheeks warmed in the amplified silence, eyes flicking between the offending novel and Kylo’s infuriatingly self satisfied face, his own heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

       Slowly, he backed out of the room, pacing the foyer and climbing up the stairs with as much dignity as he could manage, vehemently refusing to let himself bolt to the sanctuary of his study. He would carry himself there with a steadfast decorum if it killed him, and even then he would collapse with grace.

       Part of him regretted it didn’t come to that as he crouched before his desk to withdraw an entirely too familiar amber bottle. With shaking hands, he tipped contents into his ever present tumbler, allowing himself a deploring laugh when the liquid sloshed over the desk. He cast about for something with which to sop up the mess, and at the lack of a more readily available option, he settled for his shirtsleeves. The tacky fabric sticking to his wrists provided the perfect addition to today’s unbelievably asinine accomplishments.

       Sinking into his chair and draining his cup in unadvised continuum, it occurred to him if he continued at this rate he’d eventually be forced to venture downstairs and retrieve more from the den. The honeyed warmth of the alcohol seeping through his bloodstream had not yet pacified his nerves, and the thought of ever leaving the study again was a reality he was not equipped to consider.

\---

       He tipped his heavy head back, light limbs bringing the bottle he didn’t remember switching to to his mouth. He felt overwarm, and the dim quality of the room told him he had lost time while he drowned his embarrassment, everything that much harder to see with his blurred vision. The pained growling of his stomach instantly cleared any confusion he might have had; he hadn’t eaten and was likely much more drunk than he intended to be.

       He made to stand, thinking a light dinner and the comfort of his bed were luxuries he quite deserved, but the shift in his equilibrium had him swiftly reconsidering that decision. The chair would do just fine for present.

       He settled more comfortably, his inebriation enough of a hindrance to allow his memory to call on how very close to Kylo he’d been, drawn out above him in his room. On Kylo’s admission. The thought of Kylo near his bed. If Hux had stayed inside he might have found him there, caught him by surprise just as his nimble fingers plucked the book from his nightstand. Self indulgent, Hux let the scene play out, taking special care to consider what Kylo’s hands would feel like in his own as he pulled him down over the sheets, what he might look like as Hux took him. How he might sound.

       When Kylo emerged from the darkness, his pale face hovering, moonlike in the shadows, Hux thought him a fantasy; a self serving and whimsical formation designed to test his restraint. Hux could swear the phantom’s feet didn’t touch the ground in his glide forward, coming to rest just before the curve of his boot. He took another swig of his drink, failing to remember why he fought this in the first place. As a child he had been afraid of the dark. Now the dark was all he wanted.

 

       Kylo’s fingers bumped over his as he took the brandy from him, silent, eyes searching Hux’s face for something Hux couldn’t be sure he found.

       “Your hands are cold,” Hux said, air taken from his lungs as he gazed over Kylo’s face, following the trail of his cheekbone to his jaw, the exact path he so often desired to touch.

       Kylo brought the bottle closer to himself, scanning the label and taking a sip before he set it down, knock of the glass sounding hollow on his desk. He splayed his fingers, eyes half lidded as if he were considering this for the for time.

       “My hands are cold?” His eyes flashed, lit by the hazy glow of the moon, and Hux dimly remembered the iridescent green that followed him the night before, when Kylo struck the thought from him, uttering, “So warm them,” with vehemence.

       “Yes,” Hux breathed, and dared reach out, wrap his fingers around Kylo’s slim wrists and draw him nearer, bringing the chill of his hands to relieve the radiating heat at the nape of his neck as he leaned forward, stretching up to press his mouth against the invitation of Kylo’s lips.

       He chased the faint flavor of his brandy on Kylo’s tongue, crushing his velveteen hair in his hands and tearing at the flesh of his lower lip with his teeth. Kylo’s nails dug into the skin between his shoulder blades and Hux shuddered, delicate sensation forcing his eyes closed.

       He groaned into Kylo’s mouth, pleased, as Kylo shifted over him, parting his thighs to straddle Hux in his chair, and Hux despised that this should happen now, when he was too off balance to throw himself in to this with the violent precision he would have preferred.

       Kylo’s fingers found the button of his shirt just as the inhuman shriek of a dying animal pierced the air, echoing up through the open window and jolting Hux into a state of sobriety so sudden he thought he might be sick with it.

       Depressive heat filled the space where Kylo had been before Hux even realized he had moved. He stood, mildly confused and more than a little offended, looking to the place where Kylo had appeared as though it might provide some answer for him; was consumed with the desire to tear the house asunder in his frustration when it did not.

       Hux would not go looking for him.

       Whatever these games were that Kylo wanted to play, he could find another partner.

                               


	4. Chapter Three

**** _April 25_ _th_ _1936_

 

       Phasma had been quick to tell him he was being ridiculous. That if he wanted this issue resolved he need only speak to the capricious creature lurking downstairs like a rational adult. Hux had asked her if she thought that were as easily done as said, scorning her judgment of his personage; the implication that Hux’s behavior was anything other than a direct response to Kylo’s own. She’d merely looked at him, having no predisposition to continue a circular argument.

       “One does not need to care for that to which they are obligated,” Hux had sniffed, lighting a cigarette and propping his feet on a crate on Phasma’s deck, puffing his hair off his face where the wind had ruffled at it.

       “Obligated?” Tina’d scoffed, tying the strings of her green apron and pulling back her hair. “Aint nothin’ about this an obligation. You shot ‘im, you saved ‘im, done’s done as far as I can tell.”

       Phasma’s employee had made herself a staple in Hux’s small circle with an ease Hux was envious of. She seemed a natural addition. Her blase attitude tipped the scales from the couple’s sunny disposition to something more level headed, for which Hux was infinitely grateful. What’s more, she had Phasma’s approval, and Hux trusted Phasma’s judgement almost as much as his own.

       “What can you tell?” Hux slid further into his seat, stiff support of the rocking chair digging into his back as he  cocked his head to the side, shooting her with a look that clearly invited a rebuttal.

       He was met with the icy façade of a woman well past done with the opinions of men. “I happen to know a thing or two about care.”

       Ever the pacifist, Aren had taken the opportunity to divert their attentions by suggesting Hux attend service with him come Sunday. “Pray to the Father,” he’d said, “ask for guidance.”

       When Hux pointedly informed him he would rather acquaint himself with the more severe end of an icepick than seek the counsel of a lecherous man who spent his days in the company of the Godly, and his nights with their children, Aren hadn’t mentioned it again.

       His indignation held strong for a time, the cold fury of his steadfast gaze seeing Kylo slink back around corners; disappearing from doorways on each occasion he’d tentatively attempted to approach, perhaps even to explain. Hux had nearly laughed at the sheer gall of him when, just once, Kylo had knocked softly on the door to his bedroom. Whatever paltry excuse he’d come to offer, Hux had no care to hear it.

       The loathsome being could live here, as Hux found it incredibly unlikely his previous claim to an apartment had been an honest one; and for all that Hux was weary of him, he was not quite so heartless as to send him into the oppression of the oncoming summer with no shelter. Still, Hux could not be put upon to oblige him the pleasure of his company.

       That he’d stayed awake listening for those footsteps long after they’d gone was another matter.

       For all his searching the corners of his house in the night, for all his juvenile dreaming that perhaps he’d manage to acquaint himself to Kylo and all his oddities, Hux could admit to himself he was enjoying his petty vengeance. His small retribution for all of Kylo’s curious misdirections this year past. He deserved to revel in it, the crestfallen look on Kylo’s face as Hux shunned him. He deserved to breathe easy, to rest, and cast off this morbid obsession. He thought, in his vigilance, he would finally shake himself from it.

       As ever, Hux found himself mistaken.

       The shutters falling over Kylo’s eyes, the ever poorer slope of his posture, the resignation with which he wore his silence chipped and tore and ate at the thing in Hux that sparked in breathless wonder at his radiance.

       Even as he dreamed the shadows deepened, swallowing the corners of the halls that stretched, seemingly endless, before his feet.  The masked sorrow of the night was as forlorn as he. His house consumed him time and time again; walls collapsing in an ashen cascade of mildew and folly each time he opened the door to the room that kept Kylo inside it.

       Kylo turned to him, his face alight as Hux reached out - he would choke awake with the taste of death on his tongue and despair in his heart, reliving it again when sleep deigned to take him once more.

       One such evening, forfeiting all pretense of rest, Hux dragged himself from the chafing confines of his sheets and shambling to the bathroom, rattling through the pill bottles in his medicine cabinet in search of aloe. If peace was denied him, he could at the very least be productive with his health.

       His poorly conceived attempt at stress relief resulted in a sunburn that would not yield, drying his skin beyond practical measure and cracking tight fissures into his skin, stretching out over his back and curling down his arms. With his complexion, Hux thought bitterly, he should have known better.

       The night air pervaded the bathroom as he perched on the rim of his tub, soaking Hux in the relaxing familiarity of its scent as he fastidiously smoothed the balm into the divots roping his arms. Locusts sang and birds trilled and Hux’s mind slipped unguarded to that which was his every torment.

       He’d held Kylo for but a moment in his hands, and now in dismay Hux found he could not be exorcised. The faint gleam of his eyes, near black in night. The velvet slide of his voice.  The words he had so sweetly spoken, inviting those long fingers to cool against his neck. It was nothing to summon the feeling of them now, to imagine they rested once more at his nape.

       Closing his eyes, he leaned into the phantom touch, allowing himself this secret, gluttonous moment as he angled his elbow, awkwardly brushing over what he could reach of his back. He hummed, relaxing further into the hold when the hands at his neck moved lower, stealing the slick concoction from his finger and dragging it along his spine.

       “Let me help you,” Kylo was gentleness incarnate, pushing deftly into the knots on his back and freeing Hux from his self inflicted deprivation. “Just this once, let me do this for you.”

       Hux rolled his shoulders, opening his eyes to see the tender curve of Kylo’s smile before the walls turned in on themselves, disintegrating, and he was swept in the debris from fickle sleep to barren reality. Exhaustion was there to greet him as he woke.

       Dawn had barely begun to break, soft light rolling in on wind that fluttered the lace of the curtains. His throat constricted, raw for want of nicotine, and his eyes itched. Rolling onto his stomach Hux buried his shame under his pillows and groaned his irritation into the mattress.

       Fit to see the world burn, Hux flung his blankets from him, exaggerating the motions of putting himself together and tearing himself apart for it every step of the way. By the time he’d finished, the vitriol with which he’d belittled himself had sapped him of most of his anger, leaving him pleasantly hollow and relatively numb.

       He negotiated with himself as he dressed, taking hold of his mental faculties and realigning them to his interests as the arid breeze ushered him from his room and saw him down the stairs to the kitchen. They had just come to terms with each other, founding a fragile agreement that his driving need to see Kylo, and in turn be free of him, was hazardous to his health. He was freshly optimistic.

       His resolve shattered the second he reached the doorway.

       Kylo stood just out of the light’s feeble reach, mug of coffee in hand curling an aromatic hazelnut steam over his face. His eyes were closed, giving Hux the rare opportunity to take him in, to bask in the serenity of the scene he displayed.

      His shirt was wrinkled and bed worn, as though it’s wearer had no better luck sleeping than he. Grey slacks slung low on his hips, hems pooling around his bare feet over the tile. Damp hair teased and curled around his face. Still wet, but drying, telling to the bath he must’ve just taken.

      He was, in a word, beautiful.

      “I didn’t know you drank coffee.” Hux announced himself, perhaps too loudly, slipping into the kitchen with feigned ease.

      “I don’t.” Kylo’s eyes opened with the flutter of his lashes. “This is,” his smile was self-depreciative, “This is for you.”

      “Oh.”

      Kylo pushed the mug into Hux’s hands. “About the other night I…”

      “No, it’s – “

       They spoke in unison.

      “… wasn’t sure.” Kylo curled his toes, silent for a moment before offering a hesitant, “You’re not sleeping.”

       Hux breathed the beginnings of a small laugh, taking a sip of his coffee and instantly revolting at the taste. Thick, bitter and half brewed, it was an offense to it’s name and even as he forced it down he fought the urge to spit it into the sink. “No.”

       “To the sleeping or to the coffee?” Kylo winced, taking the cup and sliding it a safe distance over the counter.

       “Both.” Hux dumped the ghastly liquid from the pot and refilled it, rubbing his eyes and setting about to brew himself a drink fit for consumption.

       “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Kylo was trying his patience.

       Hux slipped a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with the low flames of the stove. “I wasn’t aware that was your concern.”

       Kylo grimaced, tilting his head. “Hux, can we talk about this?”

      “Talk about what Kylo?” Hux poured himself his coffee,  smoke covering the wall behind the counter and billowing back around his face as he exhaled.

      “Hux, don’t do this.”

      “You want to talk?” Hux raised his eyebrows. “Alright. Let’s talk. Do you want to talk about how you  live in my house for nothing, no questions asked? Or, how about that you leave at night with no explanation for where you’re going.” Kyo receded fractionally into himself. “Or perhaps we should discuss how I should’ve left you out there that day?” Hux’s laugh was mirthless. “If I’d known how I’d come to–“

       He stopped when Kylo flinched, shoulders hunched and eyes set somewhere in the vicinity of Hux’s shins. “Maybe you should have.”

       Hux’s aggravation revolted, bled, and died, leaving him to spin ungrounded in a feeling not dissimilar to whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.” He ashed his cigarette in the tray by the sink before bringing it once more to his lips, taking the stolen moment to collect his thoughts.

       This was a disaster.

       A small part of him helpfully pointed out he should be used to that by now.

       Hux stepped back, taking his ashtray with him to sit at the table. Running the flat of his scarred left hand over the surface, he watched as with each pass his reflection was broken and reformed, steadily smoking his cigarette down to the filter and stubbing out the butt.

       “Open the door, please.” Barely above a whisper, Hux didn’t look at him to ask. Without a word Kylo complied, haze of smoke to escaping through the screen door and dispersing into the dawn. Hux wanted to vanish with it. Such a feat would be easier, more merciful, than this. He screwed his eyes closed, calling on every ounce of self discipline he’d ever possessed, and with a plea to whatever force was listening, opened them again.

      “Sit, Kylo.”

       Kylo sank into the opposite chair, studying his hands as he picked at his nails, loose collar of his unbuttoned shirt tugging around his clavicle. A faint brush of wind pushed the scent of lilacs at Hux, and from a mortifying distance he heard himself say, “I am ruined.”

       Kylo’s eyes flicked up, a vaguely cautious expression besmirching his downturned face. “What?”

       Hux curled both hands around his mug and met Kylo’s eye, denying the tremors that told him he could turn back, take himself from this situation and continue on as he had done before. No more. He had started this appalling scene and he would see it through.

       The direct approach.

       Hux’s voice was mercifully steady.  “You’ve stumbled into my life and taken everything from me. Before you, the word peace had meaning. There was control in my solitude and you’ve robbed me of it. You do nothing and I am lost to the abysmal thought of you.” Hux gripped his cup tighter, involuntary strain of muscle counteracting the calm veneer of his expression in the face of this absurdity, “I am confounded by your ability to be everywhere you are not. I look for you in the dark, and I am terrified that in the dark I might find you.” Hux took a shaky breath and pressed on. “I know nothing of you, and I have nothing to show for it but exhaustion.” Hux flicked his eyes briefly back to Kylo’s, looking to the table again to escape the wary hope he found in them. For the span of a lifetime Hux did little more than breathe, fighting the panic rising in his throat. He had once had a sterner core, he was sure of it. “After all this, I have to know. Why did you kiss me?” Hux rotated the cup between his hands, regretting the question as soon as he’d asked it, unable to take it back, and burning for the answer.

      He tensed as Kylo leaned across the table, looking up at the cool slide of long fingers stilling over his. The tangle of Kylo’s hair fell on either side of his face, brows lifted over a crooked smile. “Because I wanted to.”

      Hux shook his head. “What?”

      Kylo’s grin widened as he patted Hux’s hand, withdrawing from the table to stand. “You are _volmaakt_ . _”_ The sun crested the treetops as Kylo circled around Hux, bathing him a radiant gold as he moved towards the door. “Your coffee grows cold. Drink it. We’ll speak again later.”

      “Because _what_? Where are you going?” Hux spun in his seat, unsure if his bewilderment should be offense, but Kylo had already gone.

 

                                                                  ---                                                                               

  

     “He just left?” Phasma laughed, shoulders heaving. “Well that was rude of him.”

      She was tucked into the corner of her couch, one ivory slack clad leg thrown over the other, chin in hand with her elbow on the arm rest.

     Her home was modest for the money she made, being the only grocer for miles, but it suited her. All creams and yellows, the occasional nutmeg colored accent for warmth. The wide space was dominated by the living room, no walls to separate it from the kitchen or dining area. A small hallway to the right held two doors, likely housing bed and bath. Candles burned on the low, tan coffee table, infusing the air with a spiced vanilla that both welcomed it’s audience and willed them to relax. Sitting in her too-soft arm chair, Hux was not inclined to let it.

     “Yes,” he drolled. “You seem so concerned.”

     “Well I’m hardly surprised,” her responding beam was endlessly teasing. “You pine over him for nearly a year, then you kiss once and he’s as good as dead to you. Next thing you know you’re unloading on him over the morning paper.” Phasma’s face tinted pink with her amusement. “There’s a phrase for that you know, I believe it’s called mixed signals. When I said you should talk to him I didn’t mean prostrate yourself over the table and vomit your feelings at him. That’s quite a bit to take in. Truth be told I would’ve left, too.”

     “Phasma, it might have escaped your notice, but he wasn’t exactly the most willing conversationalist.” Hux rolled his ankle for lack of anything better to do, jittery with nothing to occupy his hands and itching for a cigarette. “It’s not like I was avoiding him at first, rather the opposite.” He pursed his lips. “Though I hadn’t meant to embarrass myself like that. He ambushed me before I’d even smoked Phasma, the least he could’ve done is stick around to have the conversation he so desperately wanted to have. I mean-”

     “You fucked it up again didn’t you?” He straightened at Tina’s unexpected arrival, watching her come down the hall. She neatly rounded the sofa and plopped, rather unladylike, onto the cushions.

     “My God, you’re everywhere these days. I can’t seem to be rid you.”

      Tina huffed derisively through the nose, pulling at the threads of the flaxen madras blanket thrown over the back of the couch. “I live here.”

       Hux arched a brow, looking expectantly at Phasma, who’d said nothing of this in the entirety of Hux’s visit.

      “It was either here or the store room,” She supplied him with a casual shrug. “I couldn’t think of a reason why not, so here she is. I can’t say I mind the company.”

       Tina shot him with a smug grin, daring him to comment. Hux was not so foolish.

       He didn’t mind if Tina knew, he just wasn’t overly fond of involuntarily sharing the more sensitive aspects of his personal life. He tried not to let it sting that Phasma hadn’t mentioned their living together. It could be assumed she’d done so as a show of solidarity, in deference to his own considerable complaints. Swallowing a twinge of guilt, he made a note to show more interest in her goings-on in the future.

       Uncomfortably claustrophobic under the pin of Tina’s scrutiny, Hux made a furtive attempt at small talk, abandoning the prospect when Phasma proved questionably distracted and Tina couldn’t be bothered to do more than stare at him. Feeling snubbed, though perhaps rightfully so, Hux made his excuses and bid them both farewell, seeing himself out the door.

       He picked his way across the field, navigating the dusted paths of the town. If there were fewer people about, Hux couldn’t tell. The whole miserable lot of them seemed perpetually within their walls. Doors were thrown open and windows were cracked to allow for the heat, but if Hux had not known it, he’d be surprised to hear any of them were missing at all.

       The isolation was suffocating.

       Still, there was relief to be found in that the sun was mostly overhead, and at the very least he would not bear witness to their hyperactive superstition.

       He’d no sooner had the thought than the lights began to flick on, one by one in each home as he passed, as though in ritual. Mildly unnerved, Hux walked that much faster. The morning’s events dictated this to be the sort of day in which any event would not be out of turn, and Hux was unwilling to risk being caught in the undercurrent of these people’s paranoia, lest it be hive minded.

       When finally under the protective shade of the trees, he breathed easier, slowing his gait. Azure clusters of crocus peeked  out from under broad leaves of caladium, sprinkled in bright paths that winded between the trees and were Hux younger he might’ve succumbed to the temptation of their lead. In some other life where his youth had been frivolous he’d have bounded over the rotting husks of those fallen trees and slid through the muck, eager to reach whatever secret spot they’d lure him to.

       The idea tinged bittersweet. Summoning the echo of his parents disappointment, and with some measure of regret he banished the thought, leaving the buds and everything they never represented wholly undisturbed.  

       He rounded the bend and the piteous spell was broken. Before him the house loomed, regal and alone, the white of its panels a preternatural beacon in the dusk. It’s shadow beat the yard a deep amaranthine, last bleeding light of the day stealing away behind it.

       Trepidation gnawed at Hux as he stepped onto the porch. Pulling at his laces, he kicked off his mud-caked boots and left them where they fell, just outside the door. Every soft step was amplified and lost to the vault of the ceilings. Disconcerted, Hux did not falter in his stride as he bent and removed his socks, tossing them into Kylo’s room for spite as he passed. His sweat-tacky feet clung briefly to the kitchen tiles, faint sound following him as he pushed open the screen door.

        He leaned briefly on the weather worn bannister, tangerine glow of the sunset dyeing his hair a vivid auburn, his freckles standing out that much more on his skin. Moss hung from branches that reached brokenly over the marsh, sullen and lonely in the shade as the last of the failing sunset struggled to penetrate the settling dark. Breathing in the sickly oversaturated cut of azaleas he lit a cigarette. He watched, impassive, as toads leapt in vain at clouds of gnats before swiveling to recline on the bench, bouncing his knee.

       Chewing his lip he leaned against the wall, tipping his head up and exhaling, frustrated. His idle state was not long lived, nameless anxiety sending him back in to pace the length of the foyer. Annoyed at the stifling quiet, he threw himself into the den, settling into and rejecting each chair, exasperation growing that none were to his comfort.

       With more force than he intended, he shoved open the doors to the dining room. He could almost hear his mother yelling when they clacked, bouncing against the walls and passing each other as they swung closed. He circled the table, rapping his knuckles as he went, and made a point to knock the doors again when he left.

       Leaning into Kylo’s room and finding it empty only furthered the ferocity of his unease, doubt and ire breeding a nasty cocktail of uncertainty that blistered him to the marrow. Hooks of impatience dragged him up the stairs where he forced himself to stop, to stare vacantly at the paintings lining the hall and try to regulate his breathing; slow his heartbeat.

       Without his consent, and almost without his notice, his feet took him to the study and from it again. Opening the doors to the library and tapping at the spines, he wandered between the rows. Nothing within could hold his attention.

       Back in the hall he hesitated, finding every door ajar and having no recollection of opening them. From his peripherals the walls buckled, spilling mildew where they cracked.

       Horrified, he whipped his head around and - found them whole. He bit at the inside of his mouth, not convinced this was reality until the warm tang of blood seeped against his tongue.

       He nudged open the door to his room, looking to the corners before falling back against his bed, puffing miserably to the ceiling. He could feel Kylo’s hand in this. The distinct lack of Kylo’s presence in the house was irrelevant, he knew a trap when he was in one. Fear melted into fury as Hux considered this was likely Kylo’s way of getting him to back off. The insufferable cur was going to have to do better than that. When Kylo had said later, Hux had assumed he’d meant today. He was more than willing to wait him out if necessary. This could be an uncomfortable situation for the both of them.

       Decision made, Hux rolled to his feet, plodding once more to the library, posture straight and stride purposeful. He made quick work of finding a book to take downstairs where he made himself comfortable on Kylo’s settee. Turning on the lamps and flipping open the pages, Hux settled in to his task. It was only a matter of waiting, and he had always been more than patient.

  

                  ---

  

       “What are you doing in here?” Kylo stood in the doorway, coat draped precariously over his shoulders.

       The hours had been immeasurable in the windowless room, and Hux had been unwilling to leave it on the chance that Kylo would sneak past him if he did. The book in his hands was almost finished and he made a point to see it done before snapping it closed and setting it to the side. “Whatever I like. It’s my house.”

       Such charming fondness painted Kylo’s features that Hux, for a moment, forgot himself. “Where have you been?”

       Kylo sat at the edge of his bed, pushing his hair out of his face with his right hand, running the thumb of his left over his knee. “Nowhere, _lam_. Just outside.”

       “Just outside?” Hux scoffed, “You’ll forgive me if I have difficulty believing that you -”

       He sneered when Kylo held out a hand to silence him. “No, I’m sorry, I forget sometimes that you don’t… It’s nothing to be concerned with.” Kylo leaned back, supporting his weight on his elbows and tossing his head as he sighed. “As for the question you actually want to ask, it was a matter of consent.”

       Hux’s brow furrowed. “Consent?”

       “When I left you.” Kylo laid back, carefully elongating his lithe frame. The tattered hem of his coat splayed like phantom wings around his hips, invitingly stark on the white sheets. “That night. You were _verleiding_. You were inebriated. I couldn’t be sure.”

       Hux sat straighter, cocking his head to catch sight of Kylo’s face. The angle denied him the privilege.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Kylo pressed on. “When you avoided me I thought I’d overstepped my bounds,” he rolled his head to the side, flashing Hux a crooked grin. “You cleared that up for me this morning.”

       “What can you have possibly gained from that one sided conversation?”

       “There’s a chance for us.”

       “Was the humiliation supposed to endear you to me? Honestly, Kylo,” Hux intoned, “You don’t know me at all.”

       “I’d like to.” Kylo sat up, eager. “Whatever you want to know, just ask, I...” Kylo trailed off, looking to his own boots, slowly trailing over the floor and up Hux’s shins, exploring the lines of his chest and at last meeting his eye. “I’m sorry I left. I didn’t know what to do. But... I want you to know me and,” he paused, worrying his lip. “I want to know you, too.”

       Hux contemplated the value of his words, weighing them against the detriment of his actions before ultimately asking, “You didn’t have an apartment, did you?”

       Kylo’s smile widened. “No.”

       “I didn’t think so.” Hux propped his ankle on his left knee, smoothing his hand absently over his thigh. “Where were you going that night?”

       “Nowhere.”

       “Nowhere?”

       “Anywhere. Might have left Georgia.”

 _Might not have met you_ hung unspoken between them.

       Hux bristled, having heard it anyway. “Stop that.”

       Kylo made a curious noise, tangle of his hair fanning out around him with the tilt of his head.

       “Talking about this like that. There’s no reason for it.”

       “There doesn’t need to be a reason.” Kylo sat up, leaving his coat behind him on the bed and folding his hands between his knees. “It just is.”

       Hux tipped his head up, keeping his eyes on Kylo’s face as Kylo stood, cautious in his approach, as though it had been Hux that bolted. “It’s too easy.”

       “It’s supposed to be.” Kylo knelt before him, resting his hands on Hux’s thighs, just above his knees.

       Hux’s eyes dropped to his lips. “Why?”

       “Why not?” Kylo’s breath teased across his skin.

       Hux leaned forward, head reeling from the taste those words in his mouth, sharp as honeysuckle and smooth as nails. At the venomous brush of Kylo’s lips his vision wavered; at the slick glide of Kylo’s tongue licking into his mouth, stinging over the chewed flesh of his cheek, he was lost.

       Kylo rubbed over his thighs, thumbs finding their way to the divots of hips and robbing him of air as Kylo pushed them there; blunt pressure building in the base of his spine as they breathed into each other. Kylo lapped at the point of Hux’s cupid’s bow and canted  his hips, hauling him closer, snugging himself between his thighs.

       Curling his fingers around Kylo’s left bicep, he sloped over the curve of muscle and tangled his hand in the dark shine of his hair. Knotting the soft strands between his fingers he tugged Kylo’s head to the side, pointing his tongue to better enjoy the taste of him. He teased along the ridges of Kylo’s hard palate as Kylo fumbled with the buttons of his slacks, crowding closer to him until either of Hux’s knees framed his waist

       He nipped at Hux’s lips, mouthing down his jaw and sucking at the soft skin under his ear while his right hand worked at freeing Hux’s cock. He slid his index finger along the frenulum, squeezing gently at the head and working down his length in one slow, even stroke. Hux closed his eyes, gasping at the contact, and dropped his head into the crook of Kylo’s shoulder. His hands were freezing.

       “Tell me what you like.” Kylo’s breath was hot on his neck, rolling his earlobe with the point of an incisor. The fingers of his left hand dug into Hux’s hip, holding him still, while with the easy grip of his right he syphoned the heat from Hux’s body, thumb rubbing into the fat vein at the base of his cock.

        “I like - _H-aahh_ \- I’d like-” It was difficult to think with Kylo touching him. Hypersensitive to the brush of his hair, sweeping delicately over his shoulder. Scalded by the coiling heat of his breath, licking at the underside of his jaw. Impossible, when at long last those hellish hand were wreaking their havoc between his legs.

       Hux pressed his forehead into the comforting cool of Kylo’s shoulder, nose grinding against the thin fabric of his shirt. Almost indiscernible under the dizzying scent of lilacs, something foul registered with Hux’s stomach. He recognized it instantly.

       Hiding, just underneath the coy sweetness of that flora, was death.

       Hux’s mouth watered, cock pulsing in a fervid ache at the decay. Nuzzling closer, he breathed it as deeply into himself as he could. Eyes rolling back, he sunk his teeth into the curve of Kylo’s neck and groaned a muffled, “ _Harder_.”


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time I promised three super flowery chapters  
> this is one of them

_April 26th 1936_

 

       “Like this?” The barest puff of air from Kylo’s lips, the inexorable downward twist of his hand spread tendrils of heat low in Hux’s spine. He clutched Kylo tighter between his fingers and bowed around his fist, silken strands of Kylo’s hair spilling over Hux’s palm and twirling around his wrist.

       Angling his legs around Kylo’s thighs he drew Kylo closer, consenting his neck to Kylo’s teeth. His skin broke easily under pinpoints of pressure, slick blooming red seeping under his collar. Words so softly spoken against the expanse of his throat turned his head: “I want you.”

      Cradling Kylo’s skull Hux slid his jaw along Kylo’s cheek and pressed his forehead to the crease drawn between Kylo’s brows, mourning the life he’d known with wistful ire. If Kylo had come to him as anything other than himself, Hux might have been spared bearing witness to the collapse of his own pride, a detriment foreshadowed with all the dignity of a dying star; He might have been spared releasing his breath and his convictions against the lips of a man his entire being combusted both for and against. But Kylo had.

      He had.

      Hux unwound his fingers from Kylo’s hair and pulled at the buttons of his shirt, coming to the last before Kylo captured his hands. Hux looked up to the inquisitive tilt of an expectant face and leaned back, all at once acutely aware of the situation he found himself in, and with whom. He was being given final chance to bow out. He raised his chin.

       “Have me then.”

       Kylo bared his teeth in a silent snarl, exposing elongated sanguine canines that vanished behind Hux’s startled blink when Kylo fisted his collar and hefted him to his feet. Sucking Hux’s lower lip into his mouth Kylo walked them backwards to his bed and turned, shoving Hux to the mattress.

       When he slid open the topmost drawer to his night table and hesitated, Hux arranged his expression to one of careful neutrality. “Second thoughts?”

       “Not just the second,” Kylo palmed a slim tin and eased the drawer closed, descending on Hux with unexpected fluidity. The corner of his mouth tugged into a lopsided grin. “Or the third,” he flirted with the disheveled layers of Hux’s hair, “or the fourth.” His hands roamed over Hux’s chest, fingertips tracing down his arms and finding their way back up to cup his face,  generous mouth pushing against Hux’s with the heavy grind of his hips.

       Woven and rough, the fabric of Kylo’s slacks worked Hux’s dick sensitive and aching, pulling the barest hint of a chafe before soothing the irritation with the delicate touch of fair fingers. Delving into the waistband of his slacks, Kylo lifted Hux’s hips when a distant pounding jerked Kylo from him.

       Hux stared up at him, frozen in place just out of reach, brain working furiously to catch on to what was very clearly someone at the front door. While Hux considered with indignance that it was unlikely whomever had come knocking held an importance that outweighed Kylo’s, especially now. With flared nostrils and pupils blown he had a carnivorous sort of gluttony spilling from him in a way that Hux could _smell_ and - the beating grew more urgent, dogged with the insistence of admission.

       Kylo looked to the door. “We should just ignore it.”

       What Hux wouldn’t give. He sat up, righting his dress to something more closely resembling decent. “On the contrary.”  He tucked the slick into his pocket and adjusted the front of his slacks as well as he was able. “I should get that.” He cocked his head, sluggish blood beating in spurts through his veins at the idea that Kylo might dare to protest. Might challenge him. Kylo raised his eyebrows, vehemence burning in amber above lips that twisted closed.

       Shaking the feeling that he’d made the wrong choice, Hux slipped from the room and crossed the foyer, squinting against the garish light doing it’s best to blind him from the windows. Stalling at the door, he tugged his shirt straighter, twisted the knob, and pulled.

 

\---

 

       Condensation slid down Hux’s glass as he sat, watching and waiting from the chair opposite Aren in the parlor. He picked at the threads of his armrest, chipped thumbnail catching on the weave as he bit his tongue against commanding Aren to speak. Gaunt faced and tight lipped, Aren’s green eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall as he lamented a sorrow he could not voice, sipping bourbon he’d all but demanded, still politely, on sight.

       At his arrival, Kylo had peered out from his room with a resignation to his curiosity that sparked hostile and malevolent on sight. He loomed from the doorway, malicious pin of his gaze set to Aren’s face like a threat until he slipped silently into deplorable scarcity. Hux dismissed the nervus lilt of Aren’s responding laughter, reminding himself that, despite his social blunders, Aren’s acquaintance was one worth keeping. The long walks to town becoming anything but a social distraction was reprehensible, and the ever looming threat of Phasma’s disappointment was something he couldn’t bear to face.

       Hux found the recollection difficult to maintain when the hours of silence offered nothing more than ample opportunity to recall exactly how solid Kylo had felt above him. The marked weight of his body pinning Hux against the mattress, the heavy outline of his -- Aren sucked in a breath and sighed into his bourbon, bringing Hux back to the present. He dropped his elbow on the armrest and planted his fingers against his temple, lifting his own drink with his free hand and swilling it over his tongue. It seemed the only silver lining to be provided by this eternally endless day was the smoky sweet oakfire smoothing over his taste buds. Hux would take what he could get.

       Outside, the windowpanes clacked lazily against the paneling. Diaphanous curtains rustled on a warm wind that invited the call of cicadas and introduced the room to all the subtleties of foxglove, but offered no relief from the heat. The sun had peaked and fallen, the golden light flooding the room stuttering away to steeled periwinkles and still Aren could not be called upon to confess the purpose of his visit. The tick of the grandfather clock marked the hours he sniffled and fidgeted away on Hux’s couch.

       Just as the sun sunk below the horizon, Aren blurted a strained, “Phasma’s left me,” to the greying hues of the room.

       Hux’s demeanor shifted between one breath and the next. From thinly veiled annoyance the very picture of sympathy. The sorrowful tilt of his brow and downward pull of his mouth shaped sincerely around words that were spoken with such heartfelt concern he thought, with some smug degree of pride, he would have fooled his own mother. Of all the banal, asinine, self absorbed, downright _childish_ \- “Aren, I’m so sorry. Whatever I can do to help.”  

       At the simple courtesy of generic kindness Aren collapsed. What meager shreds of his composure remained broke into shuddering heaves of breath, watery eyes finally shedding their tears, face contorting around a disgustingly wet sniffle.

       Hux’s lip twitched.

       “No, no, _I’m_ sorry.” Aren gulped in air, rubbing his eyes on the backs of his arms and calming himself with a proficiency and speed Hux couldn’t help but find impressive, if disturbing to watch. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. To waste your whole day I,” his laugh was semi hysteric, “God this is embarrassing I just had to tell someone you know I,” he closed his eyes and took another breath, upending his glass and setting it to rattle against the side table.

       “So,” abruptly overloud, he looked up with a brightness to his eyes that set Hux on edge. For all Aren’s skill at reining in his emotional upheavals near as soon as they’d started, his acting was atrocious, forced smile pulling his face in awkward directions. “You had Kylo with you. S’that going well, d’you think?”

       Hux arched a brow. The chair’s ancient springs creaked in protest as he shifted, crossing one leg over the other. He swirled his glass, deep amber catching the very last of the light. Aren rubbed his hands over his thighs. The silence yawned.

       Hux set his cup down. “It’s going fine. I appreciate your concern but we were --”

       “That’s wonderful! I was thinking I might have maybe interrupted something down there you know and --”

       “Aren.” Hux sighed, stifling the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s late. You’re upset and you’re drunk and if you don’t want to talk about whats happened with Phasma right now that’s fine but my situation with Kylo is hardly relevant.” Aren looked away, wringing his hands together in a way that very nearly softened Hux’s tone. He reached across the space between them, placing a firm hand on Aren’s knee. “I know it feels like your world has ended but I assure you, given some time you’ll be alright.”

       “You’re fucked at consoling people, y’know that right?” The arm Aren wiped over his face  ruined his attempt at offense. “Always have been.”

       “So I’ve been told,” Hux allowed. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

       “I do, God help me.” Aren lifted himself to his feet, soft laughter edged with something that sent the beginnings of guilt slithering down Hux’s spine. “I _am_ sorry.” Aren swayed forward, keeping his head down as he raised his arms to steady himself. “I should probably. Should probably go though, huh? S’pretty late.”

       “That’s alright Aren, I don’t mind.” Hux stood, giving Aren the lead to the door and following him down the stairs. “And don’t worry about it. If the only thing to help you out here is me, then what can you do?”

       Once on the porch Aren stilled, chillingly somber in the space of a moment.

       “Hey, Hux?”

       “Hmm?”

       “Kylo,” Aren turned, face down and eyes averted. “Do you... want him?”

       Hux looked past Aren to the all consuming gloom of the yard, hush filling the air that Kylo might be lurking out there, hiding in the spaces between where the fireflies blinked. He squared his shoulders, cadence clear as he spoke directly to the night. “In the worst possible way.”

       Aren nodded, just once, and descended the stairs with a long legged stride that saw him swallowed by darkness before Hux had the chance to open the door behind him.

       Finally, blessedly alone, Hux sagged against the stairrail, exhaling more of a breath than he’d known he’d been holding. He fell to the second step and fixated pointedly on the shadowed vault of the ceiling. Aren’s upheaval and consequential shut down weren’t cause for much concern. Couple heartbreak with alcohol and toss in lack of emotional outlets to cocktail a perfect recipe for bizarre. Hux only wished he had any such excuses for himself. His failure to procure anything from Kylo that could be considered substantial was unacceptable. If he was being honest with himself, the same could be said of _everything_ relating to Kylo. Unacceptable. Chasing the rabbits trail of that thought had been Hux’s fast track to madness, something he could no longer afford to continue.

       Standing with renewed conviction, Hux passed through the foyer, making use of the dim kitchen lamps to cross the threshold unencumbered as he threw open the back door, intent on seeing how true Kylo had been to his word.

       The moon’s uninhibited light frosted the marsh, a sparkling eye amongst the stars that blinded without the cloying cover of fog. Dew slipped and hid in the cuffs of Hux’s pant legs as he strode into the night, warm wind licking at his skin and tugging at his shirt. Moss swayed in the branches overhead, disturbing birds that took startlingly to wing in spectral silhouettes. Dieffenbachia crowded under the bowing reed of cattails along the water’s edge, scattering undertones of musk to the air with their rhythmic whisks.

       Through the glimmer and moss Kylo rose, inky nebula of blood gleaming crystalline as it sluiced from his figure, an infectious void that sapped at the radiance he admitted in a continuum of pestilential incandescence. Breaking from the gentle ebb of the bog the barest touch of a scar reached out along his hip, drawing Hux’s eye to the protrusion of his ribcage and into the delves and dips of his torso. Finely muscled forearms blocked most of the view, brought together before Kylo’s chest in a semblance of prayer. A human heart was held betwixt his fingers and torn between his teeth.

       “You,” Hux breathed, “you’ve been killing those people.” He stepped closer, toes squelching in the mud where ground gave way to marsh. “You’ve been _eating_ them.”

       Kylo turned his head, sharp carnality reflected in the tapetum lucidum of his eyes lashing at Hux with an  inflamed desperation that anchored around his hips. Kylo smiled like he could smell it, blood dripping saccharine from the treacherous slant of his teeth. “Do I frighten you?”

       With the single step it took to break the surface tension of the glade, every fiber of his hard wired self control screamed at him to stop. Hux drew nearer. Spurred by something far softer, more ironclad, tepid water lapped at his ankles and rose over his shins, swamp scum leveling around his waist as he waded to Kylo’s side.

       Lukewarm and supple, the organ gave under his fingertips as Hux shifted the heart from Kylo’s hands, sinking forgotten into the depths below. Inspired by madness, Hux laid dexterously into that which was his divinity, weaving his fingers through the spilled oil of Kylo’s hair. Kylo pressed his forehead gently against Hux’s, lashes fluttering against the sweep of his orbital bone sending legions of shivers to crawl across his skin. Hux dared not move, uncertainty flooding through him as he braced himself for what unearthly consequences his brashness might wreak.

       Every infernal hope he’d held safe-harbored in his heart came to brilliant fruition as Kylo lifted his chin, hands curling around the nape of Hux’s neck. Kylo searched his face for barely a moment before the down plush of his alabaster lips sealed over Hux’s. Rich water and sharp iron fresh on his tongue set at last to rest the death throes of what  they had always been doomed to start, what Hux had been foolish to fight. After what might have been seconds or centuries or millennia, he tongued the seam of Kylo’s lips, scraping over the fine point of his teeth. Devoured by his own recklessness, Hux nearly failed to register Kylo’s mouth softening, opening for him, before the tentative touch of that poisonous tongue coiled fire through his sinews in a serpentine spiral.

       Kylo’s hands gripped with crushing force about his skull, the wet bubble of his growl popping hot against Hux’s jaw. Shreds of flesh and viscous copper oozed between his lips as Kylo bit at his mouth, the chill of his lips a blistering frost where they touched Hux’s skin. Thick metallic heat poured down his throat as Kylo pushed into his mouth, tonguing at the tender wound Hux had chewed into his own cheek, held him still with sheer force of his hands, and drowned him.

        Beneath the relentless onslaught Hux could do little more than try and fail to hold on as treacherous bloodlust overwhelmed him, flooding through veins and saturating his muscle. It shrieked into his ears, spewing a discordant rhapsody through his senses as he flicked his tongue over the livid split Kylo had bitten into his lower lip. He groaned at the sting of it, caustic gratification prickling through him.

       The chill of Kylo’s fingers slipped from his nape to press firmly against his jugular, making sluggish the pulse that hammered in his veins. Every nerve in him sparked alive at that gentle, insistent touch, at once all consuming and so dangerously addictive that despite himself Hux moaned, a low, breathy exhalation escaping over lips now slick with blood. His face warmed as something bestial burned low, deep in the core of his being, a despoiled craving so long repressed he had condemned it forgotten. Now waking, starved and feral, it inhaled. Stirred. Paced.

       Hux had tried to smother it, this feeling in himself that now refused to be suffocated. He had thought not to succumb to the insatiable decadence of Kylo’s presence; hadn’t thought himself capable of taking so thoroughly to his barbarous charm. As Kylo’s hand encircled the expanse of his throat and flexed its hold there, so delicately perilous, Hux knew his endeavour had, from the start, been meaningless. He considered how easy it would be for Kylo, how nonchalant the grip of his fist would be around the rupture of Hux’s bones. One swift, decisive twitch would be the collapse of Hux’s veins, the burst of his arteries, and then... Hux looked for that in Kylo’s hands, and, with staggering clarity, did not find it. So to Kylo he offered himself, a willing sacrifice, and his pulse beat that much stronger.

       Something seraphic in Kylo took notice of the dark unfurling in Hux, and smiled. “ _Υπερυψωμένα_ ,” he rasped, fingers uncurling from Hux’s throat and gliding along his jaw to tip his chin, syllables of whispered lace dripping from the scarlet mar of his mouth, “Hux, permit me.”

       Spoken with such voracious devotion, Hux cracked, whatever tattered remnants of his pride he’d clung to falling away with an aching and vulnerable “Yes.”

       The starlight shine of Kylo’s delight rained in an idolatry of blood down Hux’s neck as Kylo dipped, biting kisses down his throat that broke along his carotid artery and slid warm and viscous beneath his shirt until Kylo’s elegant fingers unclasped his buttons and slipped the fabric from his shoulders, setting it to drift in a penumbral white surrender.

       He buried the wonder of it even from himself in his heart, that so vital a part of himself could be spilled so thoughtlessly. That the balance of his life was something Kylo saw fit to wield, something worthy of his fine control. The concept churned and frothed in Hux, a tumultuous and abstract swirl that bore something unnamable and bright, a momentous coalescence that held, wavered, broke, seething in a malignant jackknife of bliss.

       Hux shattered the silence with a whimper, a pathetic noise caught somewhere between reflexive protest and aggressive acquiescence and Kylo in his turn hummed with pleasure, sharp teeth scouring furrows across Hux’s stomach as he sunk lower, submerged to the shoulder in the mire and lavishing ardent affection to the soft skin of Hux’s stomach.

       Tangling their fingers, Kylo lead Hux’s hands to rest once more about his nape as he resumed his exploration, cool fingertips sliding over ribs and descending, trailing blood over Hux’s abdomen and skating the submerged slant of his hips, sharp angle serving only as a guide to lay his grip ever lower.

       The first light touch of Kylo’s hand set Hux to shiver in frigid juxtaposition to the cloying warmth, a solitary fingertip running from tip to base and curling there, slowly dragging back up as Kylo himself stood, robbing Hux of contact completely as he came to his full height.

       Wordless, Kylo lead Hux back to the shore and set him with reverence upon the earth, taking the task for himself to maneuver the sopping material of Hux’s slacks from his hips, drawing them heavy and clinging  from his legs and leaving them abandoned at Hux’s feet.  

       The night air blew cooler where beaded water rolled from his skin, igniting goosebumps as quickly as Kylo’s touch could settle them. In times prior Hux might have voiced a complaint at the tingling waves rippling over his body, more for his nature than any real discomfort, he found himself unwilling to break what felt a sacred silence.

       Kylo knelt, iridescent lunar fingers painting silver the thighs that found hallowed ground in the tilt of Hux’s hips. Olive eyes locked with honeyed amber in pensive communion as Hux travelled the sliver of gnarled skin adorning Kylo’s side with a fingertip, trailing the soft sheen of his skin to thicker torment, dual ropes of flayed skin marking forever where savagery had once once been dealt in grievous passage from pectoral to collarbone.

       Hushed whispers of grass soothed along limbs stunned immobile as with grace belying his size Kylo arched back, elongation of his frame drawing well sculpted muscles taut. With inhuman reach he sought and returned a tiny vial from where it had warmed the day in Hux’s pocket and with the betrayal of tremulous limbs Hux accepted, coating his fingers to shine with slick and setting a steadying hand over the delve of Kylo’s hip before seeking any mythos of heat that might be kept hidden in Kylo’s body.

       A fire-bright challenge burned in Kylo’s eyes as he leaned back, white knuckled fingers securing firm purchase over Hux’s thighs as Hux thumbed and circled and goaded and teased, slipping and catching on the rim until above him Kylo rocked his hips, pressed down in a livid insistence and in retribution was awarded a fainter touch.

       Kylo hissed through the bloodstain of his teeth, lip curled into a snarl and brows drawn tight as Hux continued at his own pace, fingertips delving just inside where Kylo was soft and warm as molten silk; where Hux wanted so desperately to be. Kylo snapped his teeth and whined and, just as something seized in Hux’s chest, growled, sound bleeding into a low moan as he shoved himself onto Hux’s hand.

       Rolling his hips, Kylo’s deep timbred groan spilled from parted lips and hummed across Hux’s skin as Kylo fucked himself on Hux’s fingers, clenching around the digits and keening.  Hux lurched forward, muscles straining in his forearms as he shoved into Kylo, curling his fingers and licking the groans from Kylo’s mouth when he found the spot inside him that had Kylo gagging on his pleasure. With his free hand Hux knotted his fingers in Kylo’s hair, jerking his head back to cry his agony to heavens as Hux pried three fingers apart inside him, bearing him open to fit the wide head of his dick inside.

       Slipping his fingers from the shadowed recess of Kylo’s thighs Hux dragged in a ragged breath, and shoved home. A strangled moan bled from his throat as Kylo’s hands trailed over his shoulders, clawing across Hux’s skin as Kylo clenched around his cock with such unyielding force Hux choked, blinded, and pushed deeper, dragging out an inch to shove forward again, all but lost to the consuming heat near boiling him alive inside Kylo’s frigid body as he fucked him open.

       Blinking up at him, Hux stared in wonder at the warm flush gracing Kylo’s face, the way the riotous waves of his hair curled with sweat when Kylo bore down, met the upward jack of Hux’s hips with parted lips and panted sighs. Hux’s blood thundered. Digging his fingers into Kylo’s biceps Hux shoved, streams of ebony whipping at his face as he flipped them over and pinioned Kylo to the dirt, only to pause, enraptured.

       Splayed out beneath him like an offering to a pagan god, Kylo’s body was riddled with moles and striped with scars. His bright eyes shone with starbursts above a carefree grin so hopefully open it tore at Hux’s heart to see it. Growl building deep in his chest, Hux surged forward, raining down a meteor shower of kisses that were met with the unbridled ferocity of Kylo’s open mouth, sharp teeth splitting wounds over Hux’s lip and with each searing rupture of his skin every agonizing moment of ruinous uncertainty and crippling self-doubt washed away in a maelstrom of relief, Kylo just as caught in it’s torrent.

       Kylo smiled against his mouth, gentle laps of his tongue stinging against the cuts he’d nipped, breath building up a soft tattoo of panted gasps as Hux jacked into his body. Kylo shifted beneath him, groaning as he pulled back from what had melted into a mere brush of lips, tender and yearning, sweet, shuddering exhalations drove from his lungs to the same rhythmic beat that Hux moved inside him. With one final press of his lips Hux broke away, digging his thumbs into Kylo’s thighs and manoeuvring Kylo’s legs around his waist to slide further into his body, chasing the first whispers of release with a gentleness he did not possess.

       Kylo’s hand wrapped around the back of Hux’s head, tangling in his hair as Hux reached between them to tease at Kylo’s cock, letting Kylo’s eyes fall closed and soaking in his ragged sob before fastening his grip. Rubbing circles at the slick head of Kylo’s cock Hux snapped his hips, hair falling in his face and muscles burning in the arm that strained against the dirt under the duress of keeping him elevated. Kylo moaned and clenched around him, pulling him deeper  with his calves, urging him faster, and Hux felt bloodless, dizzy as Kylo knotted his fists tighter in Hux’s hair and dragged him down, buried his teeth in his shoulder to muffle the whine that shuddered from him as he arched his back into Hux’s hand and fell apart.

       Teeth grit around a moan he could neither swallow nor release Kylo tensed to the core as he striped his own chest with his release and fell back. Gasping bleary eyed up at Hux’s face, Kylo reached for him, tilted his chin and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips, tender and sensual and no longer than a heartbeat, igniting a static current over Hux’s skin. Hux sobbed, a wretched, broken sound, and followed after, coming into Kylo’s body with vertiginous force and collapsing onto his chest, muscle spasms rippling under his skin as his cock pulsed.

       The stars looked down in silent witness as Hux settled where he was, head resting on Kylo’s chest and half hard cock steadily slipping from Kylo's body as it softened. The cool glide of Kylo’s hands smoothing over his back served as Hux’s only warning before Kylo’s arms tightened protectively around him.

       Perhaps even possessively.

       Hux couldn’t tell.

 

       In that moment, it didn’t quite matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *spit shines slow burn tag*  
> It's for the gore.


	6. Chapter Five

_ April 26th 1936 _

 

       Slate altostratus shadows floated over Hux’s calves, wafting across his thighs as he groaned and rolled from Kylo’s chest. He stared over the marsh, reflective moonlit crescents rippling around the featherlight leaps of water bugs. He pulled his knees to his chest, ignoring the huff of air Kylo puffed out behind him as he rubbed his hands over his arms. He had disavowed his beliefs and there was no coming back from it; what had been done could not be undone. His throat clenched. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a cigarette.  _ Or slept _ , he considered, acerbic self depreciation knocking a quiet laugh from his lungs as a guiding hand of wind pushed at his back, helping him to his feet. 

       He followed the whil-o-the-wisp trail of fireflies to the waterfront and tread into the mire, shaking the mud from where it oozed, thick and warm between his toes. He scraped around the aggravated puckers of flesh crossing his stomach, pain throbbing through his core as the evidence of his transgressions flaked away. He grimaced at the bogscum drifting across the surface, suppressing a shudder and soothing himself with the thought that, after this farce of a bath was settled, he could afford himself a real shower. He just had one thing to do, first.

       As if on cue the hair on his nape rose, goosebumps teasing over his skin as Kylo moved behind him, shifting from the bank and wading out into the depths. From the corner of his eye he watched Kylo dunk his head and vanish beneath the murk, arc of water spattering beyond Hux’s sight line as Kylo flipped back up to wring what was left of the blood from his hair, rushes of black coursing between his fingers and mottling his skin. The splits dicing along Hux’s mouth stung, reopening as he pulled his lip between in his teeth. Now that he had the opportunity, he  didn’t know where to start. 

       “You could start where everyone else does,” Kylo’s voice drifted into nothing, lost to the water between them. “You could ask me what I am.”

       Hux’s hands stilled. He shook his head. Narrowing his eyes, Hux pushed a hand through his hair, nostrils flaring around a sharp inhale as he thumbed at his cheekbone. “How long have you been doing that?”

       “Doing what?” Kylo blinked slowly, and Hux’s patience fizzled.

       “My thoughts.”

       “Oh.” Kylo’s eyes shone behind the fall of his hair. “That.”

       “How  _ long _ , Kylo.” 

       Kylo dipped his hands beneath the surface, pulling them back out and bring them to his face. Turning his palms over and examining his skin he plunged them below again, swirling the blood from his fingers. Finally satisfied, he tossed his head back. “The beginning.” 

       Hux turned. “Everything?”  

       Kylo nodded, jostled water sprinkling from the waves of his hair.

       Hux stepped forward. “All of it?” 

       Kylo stood straight, shoulders down and eyes guarded. 

       When he nodded again, Hux lunged.

 

       Water splashed around Kylo’s hips as he jerked back, Hux’s knuckles barely glancing his chin. He dipped, weaving to the right and connecting his fist with Hux’s ribs. 

       The impact doubled Hux over, coughing out air as he buckled around the ruptured skin of his abdomen. He shoved his forearm across his mouth, spitting blood. His vision went white around the edges. 

       He would not lose this. 

       Hux ducked in, head low and arms thrown wide with intent to grapple only to stumble for footing when Kylo sidestepped him with ease.

       Time slowed. Between the tearing pain in his gut, and the ache in his ribs, the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream spiked at the sight of Kylo on his feet, breathing easy and refusing to be beaten, or even touched. Roaring, Hux wound back and threw a haymaker. 

       Kylo dipped, neatly evading Hux’s swing. 

       Chest heaving and near blind with fury Hux tossed his weight behind his arm, drawing back to strike at Kylo again. His fist met air as Kylo swung under and shot up, right fisted uppercut knocking Hux’s teeth together and blacking his vision.

       Awash with a fresh wave of pride, Hux kept his feet. Failing was not— it was not --

 

       Pinpricks of light swam through blurred skies overhead as Hux blinked back into awareness. Raising a wavering hand he prodded gently at his aching ribs, fingers bumping up his chest to feel around his jaw. A burst of red dirt plumed around his hand where he dropped it back down, assured that nothing was broken. Rustling sounded from his right as Kylo appeared above him, amused quirk of his brow over a cigarette dangling between his teeth. 

 

       Hux sat up in increments, propping his elbows on his knees and cocking his head to the side as he waited for the world to stop spinning. “You don’t smoke.” 

 

       “No,” Kylo conceded, ”but you do.”

       Hux plucked the cigarette away and cast about for his slacks, pocketed lighter in mind when the heat of a flame dangerously close to his face turned his head. Flickers of orange chased the shadows from Kylo’s features, low hiss of butane fuming the minimal space with his thumb pressed to the ignitor. Tobacco crackled as Hux lowered the cigarette and cupped the flame, endorphins flooding his system and calming his nerves as he took his first steady breath in hours. 

       “Thank you.” 

       Kylo nodded and snuffed the light with the flip of a lid, leaning back on his hands and casting his gaze heavenwards. They sat in silence, ember shedding a faint glow that pulsed and faded as Hux smoked his cigarette down to the butt. Five petalled patches of bittersweet nightshade framed Kylo’s form, deep bruises of purple setting his skin a more sickly pale in contrast. Hux wanted to crush them.

       Stubbing out his cigarette and tossing the filter into the marsh, Hux crossed his legs at the knee and rubbed a hand over his jaw, prodding absently along the more tender areas. The wind picked up, whipping his hair around his face as a thin fog rolled in to blanket the yard. It only felt appropriate. After all this time, he’d caved. He’d stuffed his questions into the recesses of his mind until they broiled him to the very marrow, and for nothing. All along, Kylo had known. 

       “Is it really so terrible that I knew?” Kylo asked, eyes sliding to the side, his chin still tipped.

       Hux pulled tufts of grass between his fingers. “This whole time you knew and you didn’t...” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s been so pointless.”

       Kylo sat up, twisting to face Hux and smiling with disbelief. “Was I supposed to bring it up when you were telling yourself you didn’t want this? Or should I have waited till you were cursing your attraction to me in the first place?”

       Hux bristled. “I wanted to know you, first.”

       Kylo raised his eyebrows, drawling out a slow, “So know me.”

       “Alright,” Hux spat, mouth twisting around a defensive, “what are you then?”

       A lazy smile pulled at Kylo’s lips. “I am what I am.”

       “What’s that supposed to mean?”

       Kylo shuffled forward, tucking his legs under himself with a theatrical toss of his head. “I’m bits and pieces Hux.” His honeyed eyes sparkled. “I’m built on the wreckage of myself.” 

       “Very funny.” 

       Kylo spread his fingers, palms up before a one-sided shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

       “Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t know what you are?” Hux scoffed. “You honestly expect me to believe that?”

       Kylo corrected his posture and ran the flat of his hand over the earth, bending the grass under his fingers as his shoulders slumped. Quietly, he confessed. “I remember a little.” 

       “Jesus Christ, you’re serious,” Hux gawked, pulling his legs around and facing Kylo in full. “Alright. Out with what you _do_ know.” 

       Kylo took a breath, then another, looking anywhere but Hux’s direction. Bull Toads croaked from the bank, echos of their calls warping around the black willows and barely fading before being replaced by another. The reedy hymn of crickets and tempod chirp of locust completed the cacophony of white noise, swelling abstract in the background of Hux’s breathing as he waited. 

       Kylo rubbed both hands over his face and shoved his hair back, limbs going preternaturally still as he exhaled. “In the fourteen hundreds my Lady mother bore a son whose name is lost to time.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at Hux as though daring him to rebuke it. Hux folded his hands. Kylo continued, “I’m from the Netherlands, but I don’t think they were called that at the time.” He swallowed, fingers taking a white knuckled hold over his shins. “I was not yet twenty when I met Snoke.” His tendons straining in his forearm, veins leaking black under his skin. Hux leaned  closer. “He listened to me. Understood me.” Said with a self mocking emphasis, Kylo rolled his eyes. “My friends and I made a pact with him. I haven’t seen them in a very long time and I can only presume they’re in much the same state. See, whatever I am is no accident. We’re not  _ born _ . That’s not how it works. No,” Kylo held his hands out for examination and Hux didn’t know how in the liminal space between one sentence and the next he had managed to miss this. “We’re _ made _ .”

       Kylo skin had flipped, shifted into something far from human. Elongated talons shivved from his fingertips, glossed to shine even in the dimmed light of the moon. The creases of his knuckles smoothed under an ashen color that reached with torn edges over his elbows and smeared into his triceps. Hux reached out, sliding his palm over the back of Kylo’s hand and rubbing over Kylo’s pulsepoint with his thumb. Kylo skin was denser, coarse, catching at Hux’s fingers and coaxing pinpricks of blood to well to the surfaces with cuts Hux did not feel. 

       His breath caught in his lungs, eyes wide as he looked to Kylo for some sort of explanation, a word,  _ anything _ , but Kylo only smiled, crinkle of panic around his eyes as he bared his teeth, so much longer now than a moment ago. Hux held his wrist tighter.

       “Snoke… turned you?” Hux pulled Kylo’s clawed hand to him, examining it closer. “Into this?” He ran the pad of his middle finger over the slope of Kylo’s palm, lingering in the center hollow as he looked up, meeting Kylo’s eye. “Did you not ask him what is was you were to become?”

       “He must’ve told me. I knew once, I’m sure of it. I just.” Kylo eased his hand around, ash giving way to mole dotted pale once more as he laced their fingers. “I have a human memory.” Kylo flashed a smile that failed in every way to hide him. “Does it matter? To you? What I am?”

       Hux shook his head. “Not in the least.”

       Kylo’s relief broke apart his face, and Hux had no choice but to kiss it from him, pressing soft lips against his sweet face and teasing the dip of his upper lip with his tongue. Kylo buried his fingers into Hux’s hair and pulled him nearer, sucking his tongue into his mouth and stealing his air until Hux pushed at his shoulder, grinning.

       “Alright, alright,” Hux flicked his hair from his face and knocked his arm into Kylo’s side. “Is there anything more than that, or are sharp teeth and rough arms all there is to you? I’ll admit to being disappointed if that's all.”

       “Loads more,  _ pjeshkë _ .” Kylo purred. “Something to show you another time.”

       “You keep doing that, too,” Hux frowned, “Saying things I don’t understand. What does that mean?  _ pjesh..ke?” _

       “It’s  _ pjeshkë,” _ Kylo corrected, “and maybe one day I’ll even tell you.”

       “Keep your secrets,” Hux squinted, air-light surge of contentment rolling through his veins as he sat back. “Well what other perks come with being an immortal entity?”

       “M’not immortal.” Kylo fit a nail between his teeth, pulling out cartledge and flicking it into the grass. “I can be killed and I  _ do _ age. Just slower.”

       “Oh, well if that’s all.” Hux deadpanned, sparing a moment for his vanity that at the very least this was not what Kylo had looked like in his teens. His brain tingled, chilled tendrils spreading over his mind as Kylo closed his mouth around a smirk.

       At Hux’s scowl, Kylo resumed, running his knuckles over Hux’s freckled thigh. “I’m... fast enough. I can see in the dark.” A short pause. “I can heal, and project. I have an influence.” He wiggled his fingers in imitation of spellwork. 

       “I know.” Hux frowned, pushing Kylo’s hand from him. “I’ve felt it.” He laid back, stretching out on his side and propping his head up with his elbow. “You sure you’re not a vampire?”

       “Nah.” Kylo waved a dismissive hand. “Sunlight makes me sleepy and a little ill but it won’t kill me.” 

       “More’s the pity,” Hux tsked, reaching out to trace over the scars cupping Kylo’s pectorals. “What’re these then, if you can heal?”

       “I think they must have happened before.” Kylo mused, looking to where Hux’s fingers splayed over his chest.

       Hux nodded, letting his hand fall to Kylo’s waist, calloused palm smoothing over his stomach as slowly, tentatively, Hux lifted his hand, fingers hovering just over the scar he himself had put at Kylo’s hip “...And this?”

       Kylo tipped Hux’s chin with the knuckle of his index finger, looking over his face and fixating  on his lips. “This I kept.”

       “You can,” Hux’s face went warm, mouth running dry. He swallowed. “You can control it?”

       “If I focus.” 

       Kylo’s breath tasted sweet on his tongue and Hux fell quiet, letting the weight of Kylo’s words settle before shaking his head and blinking, brows furrowed. “Wait, no. You were still there. The next day, you were still there how were you still there if --”

       Kylo cut him off. “Your bullets are iron.” 

       “Oh.” Hux said, as if that meant something, and then, “I’m sorry.”

       “I’m not.” Kylo pressed Hux’s hand to his side, leaving the flat of Hux’s palm over the curve of his scar as he eased closer. 

       Pushing Hux backward with the sheer force of his proximity, Kylo half covered Hux’s body.  Supporting himself with his left arm Kylo hovered just above him, lilac invading Hux’s senses as he dipped his head, hair brushing Hux’s cheek and quick puffs of breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of Hux’s neck. Hux stayed perfectly still, heart thudding in his chest and Kylo’s scar a distinct burn under his hand as Kylos’ breathing slowed, deeper and longer as he leaned his weight more heavily against Hux. Hux stiffened, fingers clenching around Kylos’ hips to keep him from pressing their bodies together.

       “So then,” Kylo rumbled, low gravel of his voice shooting a singular electric current to sizzle down Hux’s spine as Kylo mouthed at his neck, “now that you know,” he dragged in another long, deep breath, teeth pressing lightly to Hux’s skin, “are you going to arrest me, General?”

       Hux’s hands tightened on Kylo’s’ hips. His shallow breath was harder to hold on to with Kylo so close. Lilac had never been so intoxicating. The temptation to pull more of it into his lungs was seduction made impulse, but that way laid madness. Hux closed his eyes, willing himself to focus. 

       “I don’t think so.” 

       Hux pushed his face into Kylo’s cheek when the tension melted from Kylo’s body above him. Hux coughed, robbed of oxygen as Kylo relaxed further, nearly dead weight and crushing his ribs. Kylo nosed the juncture between Hux’s shoulder neck and Hux struggled to swallow. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him with this casual sort of intimacy.

       Finally, Kylo pulled back, blinking down at Hux over parted lips. “Thank you.” 

       “Who would believe me, anyway?” Hux sighed, “‘There’s a monster in my swamp and he’s eating people’,” a smile touch the edges of his mouth, “I’d be locked away myself.” 

       “Or worse,” Kylo teased, flashing his too long teeth again as he made to sit back, extracting himself from Hux’s grasp completely, “and we can’t have that now can we?” 

       “No, I’d rather we didn’t,” Hux had to command his hands to obey him. They wanted to stay right where they were, spread over Kylo’s hips, holding him there. He forced himself to drop them and Kylo climbed off, rising to his feet in a single movement.  “Better for everyone if you stay right here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

       Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Kylo looked Hux over and asked a simple, loaded, “So you’re satisfied with me?”

       Hux pulled himself up, tilting his head back and pursing his lips as he took Kylo in. The sun had only just begun to rise, darkness sneaking away behind him as it begrudgingly surrendered its hold to the light. Casting the length of his shadow over Hux’s form, Kylo’s towering figure was resplendent, skin tinted with the roseate hues of a dawn that bled out as violaceous wine overhead, chasing the stars away. 

       “Hardly.” Hux groaned as he shifted to his knees and stood, hobbling on numb legs to the bank and retrieving his slacks, crisp-dry and unsalvageable. Kylo’s clothes weren’t far away, stashed against the trunk of a basket oak, slacks and shirt folded over the spread of his coat kept dry from the worst of the dew. Hux swallowed his annoyance and gathered them also, tucking the lot under his arm as he extended his other hand to Kylo. “Are you coming?”

       “Of course,” cool fingers twined with his, “can we sleep in your room? Mine smells like your socks,” and Hux smiled. 

       “I suppose.”

       Bullfrogs swapped places with spring peepers as the fireflies blinked out of sight, first titters of Kestrels trilling across water that melted from an abyssal mossy black to a metallic grey that glistened in the occasional sunbeam. Sundrops bejeweled dew-strewn spider webs in mirror flecked mosaics that boyoud on a barely there breeze, but the coolness of the early morning was deceptive.  The sun would rise quickly, and bring the heat with it.

       Hux’s skin was coated with a thin layer of grime that cracked when he moved. Joints sore and jaw aching, he desperately needed to disinfect the lacerations trailing his abdomen, but the only thing he could think of was his bed. A slow footed meander dragged them both inside, trudging up the stairs to the curtain-drawn haven of Hux’s room. He sighed, dropping their clothes to the floor and regretting already the crust he’d find caked to himself and his sheets when he woke. Kylo slid across his mattress in a near boneless visual, stark black and white against the downy warmth of his blankets, and Hux was simply too tired to care. 

       He tucked himself under the comforter and buried his face in his pillows before sighing and flopping over onto his side. Kylo curled himself around Hux, snugging his knees under Hux’s thighs and  throwing his arm over his chest, and, too far gone to exhaustion to even consider being prudish, Hux’s limbs drifted into weightlessness. 

       “Kylo.” Hux mumbled, voice sleep-thick and gravelly.

       The breath of Kylo’s “Mmm?” tickled Hux’s nape.

       Half muffled by his pillow, Hux drowsed a slurred “thank you,” falling asleep to the first soft patters of rain as behind the curtain the sun rose bit by bit, covering the pearl morning haze in a pale, pure white.


End file.
